It's Not A Game Anymore
by TheConsultingWriter221B
Summary: In an alternate universe where James Moriarty never killed himself, he outplays the world famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, and leaves him with an impossible choice. In exchange for John's life, Sherlock surrenders to Moriarty, allowing Moriarty to take him prisoner. Can Sherlock escape his Personal hell? Nobody knows, but it's very clear that it's not a game anymore.
1. Moriarty's Victory

Sherlock walked down the humid halls of the pool with a predator's grace, taking in the scene around himself.

"Nice touch." He thought to himself, noticing that Moriarty had picked the same pool they met in. He was told to come here for a special 'gift'. Sherlock of course knew this was a trap, but he couldn't ignore it. The letter had been sent in an envelope sealed with blood and John's old walking cane. John Watson was on his way to see Mrs. Hudson, who had apparently been shot. On the way, he was hijacked and kidnapped. There was no doubt in his mind that John was here.

Sherlock hesitated in front of the opening, watching the water's reflection dancing on the old walls. Doubt crept into his mind, an unfamiliar feeling.

Stay distant. Nothing will happen to John. He reminded himself, pushing down fear and anticipation. The game is on. With a deep breath, Sherlock stepped into the opening.

"Well, Its about time!" A voice echoed around the pools walls, crazed and uncontrollable. Standing directly in front of Sherlock was Jim Moriarty. He had his signature smile, and his eyes danced with excitement. The aura around him would unsettle anyone, and his insane laugh makes even the strongest of people crawl in their skin. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and took a step towards the Consulting Criminal.

"Where is John?" Sherlock demanded. Moriarty smirked, and stepped aside.

Behind him was John Watson being held by two men holding pistols to his temples. John was noticeably trying to keep his face calm, but the trembling in the rest of his body showed that he was terrified. They made eye-contact, and John visibly urged Sherlock to run away.

Why is he so scared? He thought, seeing how hard John was trying to contain his fear. Sherlock moved towards his best friend, but stopped when he felt red lasers of rifles on his chest. Sherlock rolled his eyes and put his hands up.

"Nope, don't move!" Moriarty said playfully as he circled him. Sherlock clenched his fists and felt Moriarty come up behind him.

"Little unoriginal, don't you think?" Sherlock teased, smirking at Moriarty as he examined him. He felt his eyes settle on the inside of his long jacket.

"Where's my gift then?" Sherlock taunted, seeing him in the corner of his eyes. Moriarty wrapped his arm around Sherlock and held him, grinning crazily at him. He reached into Sherlock's long coat and removed the gun that was hidden there. With a giggle, he threw it into the water. Sherlock watched as his only defence sunk to the bottom of the pool. Moriarty spun around and faced his hostage.

"Right here!" Moriarty snapped, and the two men holding John put their fingers on the triggers. John's body jerked, and he closed his eyes.

"No!" Sherlock shouted, feeling his breath catch in his throat. Jim cackled, noticing the look of terror that crossed his face.

"What do you want?" Sherlock demanded, keeping his gaze fixed on his best friend, who looked like he was trying not to cry.

"What are you offering Sherlock? What do you possibly have that I can't get on my own?" Moriarty taunted, walking up to john.

"What do you think Doctor Watson?" Moriarty leaned towards John, who attempted to yank away from him. Sherlock deafened the environment around himself and dove deep into his mind palace.

Sherlock focused, delving into his mind palace for any possible escape or negotiation. He played possible scenarios through his head, and each one resulted with his or John's death. Tension continued to boil in him as he frantically searched through every secret that Moriarty would ever want, but each one he already owned or could get easily.

"I don't know" Sherlock thought, continuing to search through each memory.

Abruptly, his brother Mycroft appeared in his mind.

"Isn't it obvious? You always were the stupid one.." He stated, looking at Sherlock with an unamused glare. Sherlock disregarded his brother and continued to search.

"Nope, not the answer." Mycroft said simply. Frustration built up in Sherlock as he tried to ignore Mycroft.

"Not there either." Mycroft teased as he began to search in memories about himself. Sherlock's patience snapped, and he whipped around to face his brother.

"What am I missing? I have searched everything he could ever want Mycroft, and found nothing! If you're so smart, then tell me!" Sherlock yelled, feeling the emotions he pushed down so far begin to rise.

"He wants you, moron." Mycroft replied, watching Sherlock's control of his feelings slip away.

"What?" Sherlock asked, everything around him dropping into silence. Mycroft smirked, shaking his head.

"Moriarty is bored. He wants you to sell yourself as his prisoner, and 'toy' with you for the rest of your life." Mycroft explained. Sherlock stared at his brother with wide eyes, registering his only option.

"There has to be another way." Sherlock insisted, frantically searching through his mind palace once more.

"Stop it Sherlock, its the only solution and you know it." Mycroft demanded, watching as his brother helplessly tear through his own mind.

"There is always another way!" Sherlock yelled, feeling the sense of defeat beginning to settle in his stomach. His brother grabbed his wrist, and gripped it tightly.

"Its the only way." He stated roughly. Sherlock's eyes watered, and he felt himself come back into reality.

Sherlock forced his emotions back in line, trying to remain distant. His icy gaze met Moriarty's, who was staring at him, fascinated in how Sherlock had nearly lost control of what he keeps bottled up.

"Me." Sherlock stated quietly as John struggled against their grips.

"No! Sherlock don-" One of the men clamped a hand around his mouth. Moriarty was filled with crazed anticipation, and he moved in front of Sherlock.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" Moriarty teased, cupping a hand over his ear. Sherlock ground his teeth angrily and swallowed his pride.

"Me." He said louder, his voice cracking. Moriarty moved closer to him.

"One more time..." He insisted, clearly enjoying seeing his enemy surrender himself.

"Me!" Sherlock yelled, squinting as it echoed against the walls. Jim grinned manically and danced around him.

"Look here everyone! The famed Sherlock Holmes, the worlds best detective, is giving himself up to save his friend!" Moriarty shouted, pointing up to a red blinking light in the corner. Sherlock looked up at it bewildered, and realized that it was a camera.

"Stupid Sherlock, you let your emotions blind your mind." Mycroft's voice scolded.

"Oh, yes I forgot to mention, we are streaming this live on national television." Moriarty doubled over, laughing uncontrollably. Sherlock looked down at the wet floor, trying to hide himself from the camera.

"So, in exchange for John Watson's life, you are giving yourself up to me? Meaning, you'll be my prisoner for the rest of your existence, and that I can do whatever I want with you." Moriarty asked with a wide grin. Sherlock swallowed, suddenly aware of millions of people watching him.

"Yes." He answered, averting his gaze from Moriarty.

Moriarty shot his arm out towards Sherlock, offering a handshake.

"Deal?" He asked, smirking insanely. Sherlock hesitated, and had to remind himself that there was no other way.

As Sherlock grabbed his hand, Moriarty twisted his arm behind his back painfully, and pushed him up against a wall.

"Big mistake." Moriarty whispered evilly, twisting his arm harder. Sherlock held in a shriek as pulsing pain shot through his tendons. Moriarty nodded his head at the two men holding John, and they both hauled him to his feet.

"No! Sherlock what have you done?!" John screamed at him, struggling against their grip.

"Take him back to 221B Baker Street. A deal is a deal." Moriarty stated. They continued to push John out of the door.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, resisting against them. Sherlock smiled at John sadly.

"Goodbye John Watson." He struggled to say through the pressure on his chest.

They dragged John out kicking and screaming, and eventually had to tranquilize him.

"What's that thing you always say when you start something exciting or interesting?" Moriarty taunted, pressing him against the wall harder.

"Ah yes, I remember." Moriarty leaned into Sherlock's ear and whispered;

"The game is on."


	2. The Mystery Doctor

The marching of footsteps echoed against the walls as Sherlock was pushed along by two soldiers in black. They walked through bright white halls, passing by many rooms labeled 'Cells'. It stunk of rubbing alcohol and something burning. Jim Moriarty walked ahead of him, leading them all towards his special cell for Sherlock.

"I really thought you would have had some sort of clever plan Sherlock. I was looking forward to unraveling it in front of your eyes. I am quite disappointed in you." Moriarty stated, walking beside him. Sherlock clenched his jaw in anger.

"I mean really, just a gun? Did you really think that was going to save you and Dr. Watson?" Moriarty laughed as they walked down the halls. Sherlock twisted his wrists, irritated by the tight zip ties around his hands.

"It was interesting though. It was like two halves of yourself were fighting one another. Your mind, and your heart. Like your heart had finally began to spill, unable to hold back the-" He cut-off his sentence, noticing a dull pain in his abdomen. Sherlock continued walking, smiling smugly.

"Oh." Moriarty stopped walking. The two soldiers walking behind them grabbed Sherlock quickly, and turned him towards Moriarty.

"What's wrong sir?" One of the soldiers asked. Moriarty began laughing crazily.

"You're very good Sherlock, not good enough, but very good." He stated, wiping tears from his eyes.

"What? What has he done sir?" The other soldier asked, gripping Sherlock harder incase he tried to run.

"I am in need of medical attention corporal." Moriarty demanded, still half-laughing. Both soldiers looked confused.

"But, you aren't hurt sir." One said, searching Moriarty for a wound. Moriarty rolled his eyes.

"God, I always forget everyone is a useless moron. Sherlock stabbed me, go get a doctor." He ordered impatiently, tapping his foot. Sherlock chuckled at the two soldiers dumb-founded expressions. One soldier obeyed orders and ran to grab a doctor, his footsteps slowing disappearing down the halls.

"I am surprised it took you this long to notice. You're getting slow." Sherlock taunted.

"Oh Sherlock, this little game between us is very fun. Unfortunately, you're going to lose it." Moriarty threatened, still smiling.

"Sir, could you explain ho-" The solider started to ask before he cut him off.

"For god's sake, while I took Sherlock's gun he stabbed with with an extremely thin blade. So thin, I didn't feel anything. My tight suit is keeping the wound closed, but as soon as I take it off, I'll begin to bleed out." Moriarty explained nonchalantly.

"You don't seem very afraid." Sherlock observed, smirking. Moriarty cackled.

"Im not, my life is in good hands. Before our little meeting, I hired a very good doctor. Well, not really doctor, they perform post mortems." He explained, staring at Sherlock with a playful fire dancing in his iris.

"Oh please, to save your life you would have to get someone with an extremely steady hand and a massive understanding of the human body. Also, they would have to be able to work very quickly, because I estimate you've got at least 20 minutes left before the pressure buildup in the wound will increase and when you take off your suit to tend to it, it will be too late and you will bleed out in under 70 seconds." Sherlock deduced, quickly scanning over his mind-palace and creating a mental view of the human body under the exact same circumstances.

"They would also have to be left-handed, it would take too long to do it with someone right handed due to the placement of the puncture, and someone desperate to impress, because lets be honest, who the hell would want to save you?" He continued, scrolling down a list of requirements in his head. Moriarty rolled his eyes.

"Are you done showing off?" He teased, grinning.

"I might as well finish, almost near the end of the list. I've also been keeping my mouth shut for about an hour trying not to give myself away, so Im pretty much suffering at this point." Sherlock stated proudly.

"This mystery doctor needs to have thin fingers, so more statistically has to be female. This female has to have a very good reason to save your life, because if she fails, your blood will be on her hands as well as mine. I suspect anyone who harms you will be severely harmed. So, love? No, I can tell by your smell that you don't have a female partner. No scent of perfume, and if you were a girlfriend of a powerful man such as yourself, you would dress to impress, including dumping an entire bucket of expensive perfume on yourself. If she wanted money, there's no way she would risk her life trying to save yours, she'd simply find another sponsor. If you had her spouse or children captive, she wouldn't risk failure and may just kill you in an attempt to save her family." Sherlock finished, satisfied after holding in his explanation for an hour.

"Show off." John's voice echoed through his head.

"Oh shut up. It's not something I can just turn off." He replied sarcastically.

"Your missing something. So close, but you're still wrong." Moriarty said with a wide grin. Sherlock looked at him with a confused expression, and began searching through his mind palace for something he may have missed.

"No Im not." He stated, after half a minute of rescanning his facts and checking every possible motive he could come up with.

"Yes you are. In your blindspot, emotional context. The bane of the great Sherlock Holmes. Can you figure it out?" Moriarty asked, amused by the look of pure frustration and doubt that washed over Sherlock's face. Moriarty drew closer and circled him.

"You are right, the doctor isn't in love with me. She has no spouse, children, or friends. But her motive is still love-driven. How?" He asked in a mischievous tone. Sherlock opened his mouth to explain, but no explanation came out. He was stumped.

"I-" Sherlock began to say before being cut off by a female voice down the hall.

"Simple. The doctor is in love with Moriarty's prisoner." She stated, walking closer to them.

"Wait." Sherlock thought, hesitating to face her.

"But the prisoner never loved her back." She continued.

"I know that voice from somewhere." Sherlock whipped around. His eyes widened as he immediately recognized the woman.

"So now, the woman goes to the extreme. She helps his captor, to ensure that the prisoner never escapes. To ensure that she can be with him forever, and make him suffer for the pain he has caused her."

All words escaped Sherlock as he found himself facing one of his few friends, Molly Hooper, carrying a surgical kit.

\- John's POV -

John impatiently paced in front of Mycroft and Detective Lestrade. He caught a glimpse of Sherlock's chair in the corner of their apartment, and was immediately filled with anger again.

"Save him. Send in your goddamn police, FBI, or whatever the hell you two have. Go in there and save Sherlock." John ordered, turning back to them. Mycroft avoided his stare, and Lestrade shuffled uncomfortably.

"John, I know he's your friend.. bu-" Lestrade began to explain.

"He is your brother! And the man who solves all of your cases!" He yelled, pointing to them angrily.

"Listen, Moriarty is by far the most powerful man we have ever gone up against. He's got connections to every terrorist group, and every gang." John crossed his arms impatiently as Mycroft began to explain.

"Picking a fight with Moriarty will kill millions. It will take down the nation. He has too many favours to call in, and god help us when he does." Lestrade continued, guilt drowning his voice.

"Do you not care about him? Are you jealous or something? That man saved my goddamn life countless times in every way imaginable. He is worth the nation because he is my BEST friend." John explained, his chest heavy with sorrow.

"He is my brother, of course I care about him. But, I cannot save him." Mycroft scolded, slamming his cane down on the floor of the apartment.

"And neither can you." Lestrade added. John clenched his jaw and grabbed his coat roughly.

"I don't care what either of you say, that man is worth every soul in this city to me. I'm going to save my best friend." As John moved towards the door, Mycroft stepped in front of the exit. John stared up at Mycroft with a murderous fire in his eyes.

"I can't let you do that Dr. Watson. There are too many lives at stake." He insisted, pushing the image of his little brother out of his mind.

"You always thought you were the smart one, lets see you solve this case." Sherlock's voice teased in his mind.

"I am the smart one." Mycroft muttered under his breath.

"As you never cease to tell us." His little brother chimed.

"Im sorry, what did you say?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft shook Sherlock out of his mind.

"I didn't say anything. Do you understand John?" He recovered, pretending as it never happened.

"So, we just leave Sherlock in there to be tortured by his arch-enemy? Really not seeing why you think you are the 'smart one'." John replied, attempting to push past him, but Mycroft stood his ground.

"We have to wait and hope that Sherlock finds his own way out. We will have 24/7 surveillance on you, and if you attempt to go anywhere near Jim Moriarty's headquarters, you will be arrested and held in contempt. Do you understand?" Mycroft threatened, looking down at him.

"Yeah, Im finally understanding your whole brotherly feud with Sherlock. He must have hated your lack of a spine." John spat, pushing Mycroft out of the way, and exiting 221B.


	3. Defeat

Sherlock stared at Molly in disbelief. Every time he opened his mouth to try and deduce what was happening, nothing came out. His mind was racing, digging into his memories about her and what he must have done for this to happen.

Molly was almost finished sewing up the last stitch of the puncture wound and Moriarty was still laughing. He'd been laughing for at least five minutes at Sherlock's stunned expression.

"There, all done." Molly said, pulling the last stitch through. Moriarty sat up and caught his breath.

"The great detective Holmes, betrayed by his friend!" He began laughing again. Sherlock tried to twist his hands out of the zip ties that were tied to a metal pole with no success.

"I-" Sherlock started to speak, but trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. Molly finished packing up her surgery kit, and stood over Sherlock.

"I don't un-" Molly put her finger over Sherlock's lips, and looked into his icy eyes. She leaned into his ear, tracing his cheekbones with her free hand.

"You should've said 'yes' to coffee." Molly whispered, sending shivers all over his body.

Sherlock's heart hammered against his ribs as he looked for any escape. The thin metal knife was supposed to free him, he had even planned every detail, down to the position to insert it. Sherlock started to panic as he realized that he didn't make a backup plan. He was so confident it would work.

You should've known, stupid. Mycroft chided, entering his mind palace abruptly. He was too stunned to say anything back.

Moriarty howled with laughter and doubled over.

"Tough love, huh?" He taunted, still cackling. Moriarty nodded to the soldiers, and they forced Sherlock to his feet with little effort.

"Let's take him to his special room, shall we?" He chimed, leading everyone down the white halls.

They eventually reached a large silver door, and unlike the rest of the doors down these long halls, this one had no rust on it. Sherlock smelt aluminum cleaner on it, and deduced that it was cleaned regularly, which cannot be said for the rest of these cells. The other doors were rusting and had blood splotches on them and were just labelled with what they had done to displease Moriarty, such as 'Coward' or 'Failure'.

But this particular door had a label that was carved neatly into the metal that read 'Sherlock Holmes'.

He couldn't have known that this would happen. How could he know? Sherlock asked himself, staring bewildered at the label.

Moriarty snorted in amusement and ordered the two soldiers to open the door. They both pulled on the door's handle, resulting in a loud metallic screech as it scraped against the floor. Moriarty shoved Sherlock into the room, and followed him in with Molly.

The cell had a large glass pane and what looked like an airlock door made of compacted carbon. On the other side of the glass was just an uncomfortable looking bed. There was a smiley face spray painted on the back wall, identical to the one in Baker street. To his left was a long metal table with the most horrifying tools Sherlock had ever seen. There were knives, scalpels, hammers of varying sizes, whips made of chain and various other materials, handcuffs, zip ties, rope and a variety of things he had never seen before.

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at the torture instruments, unable to comprehend the amount of pain they would cause. Moriarty ran his hand along the table, staring at all the tools with anticipation written across his face.

"So, what do you think of your room?" Moriarty asked, facing Sherlock once more. Sherlock stared at Moriarty in horror, his words caught in his throat.

"A little excessive, don't you think?" Sherlock said, hiding his terror under a guise of humour.

"I think it's wonderful." Molly chimed, running her hand down his back. He spun around and backed away from Molly as swiftly as he could, knocking into the table. Surprised, Sherlock whipped around and stared down at the table, noticing the collection of dust around each of the tools.

Wait, something is wrong with this. Sherlock observed, noticing the amount of dust that had to have collected there over time.

Other than the fact that you are going to be horrifically tortured for the rest of your life? Good god I was really worried for a second there. Mycroft stated sarcastically. Then it struck him, a deduction Sherlock wasn't ready to make.

"This room is at least a year and a half old." He choked, all breath escaping him in disbelief. Moriarty grinned evilly.

"The day we met at the pool, I knew I wanted you here. It took months to build this room, and was incredibly expensive. You know, with all the noise-cancelling foam." Moriarty explained, cocking his head to the side mischievously. Molly examined the whips with a strange emotion plastered on her face that Sherlock couldn't quite understand.

"You couldn't have known.."Sherlock stated, feeling a weight sink in his stomach.

"Of course I could!" Moriarty exclaimed, walking up to him.

"I always get what I want." He whispered, wrapping his arm around Sherlock.

"Think of all the fun we are going to have. Oh and of course, money you'll make me." Moriarty said excitedly. Sherlock pulled away from him forcefully.

"What are you talking about? What money?" He demanded, backing away from Moriarty.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? 100k for one hour with you." Moriarty explained, amused by the sheer terror that drained Sherlock's face of colour.

"Wh-what?" He stuttered, staring in disbelief.

"Think of all the people you pissed off to no extent. Think of all the customers, and entertainment!" Moriarty spun, throwing his hands in the air.

"Well, that's a long list.." Sherlock faltered, feeling his body go numb.

"Oh yes, it is. There's already a wait list of about 30 people, and more to come."

Molly came up from behind Sherlock and put her hands on his torso. He jerked away from her uncomfortably, backing himself into a corner.

"What's wrong Sherlock? You look a little pale." Molly mocked, moving towards him.

"I think he's always like that." Moriarty teased as he opened the door to the cell. Sherlock shot him an annoyed glare.

"Time to get in." He ordered, pointing to Sherlock.

Panic flooded Sherlock's veins as he frantically backed away from the cell. The door large door behind him slid open, and the two soldiers grabbed him roughly.

Do something. Mycroft ordered as the world seemed to slow.

Get out of here Sherlock. Don't let them get you in there, I promise you'll never make it out. Mycroft pressured. He began to hyperventilate as the soldiers pushed him closer and closer to the cell. His heels scrapped against the floor in a desperate attempt at survival.

Are you listening to me? Mycroft demanded, watching his little brother pitifully.

RUN!

All of the sudden, the world flew into motion. Sherlock whipped around, and thrust his elbow into one of the soldiers face painfully, and kicked the other's kneecap so hard it made him drop. He ran to the large door and gripped the handle tightly and pushed. Sherlock felt one of the soldiers grab him by the arm. He turned swiftly and grabbed the soldiers forearm, twisting it painfully. The soldier dropped to the floor in agony as Sherlock continued to push the door open. A small crack opened, but the door was so heavy. Sherlock didn't have enough time to react when Moriarty grabbed one of the syringes off of the metal table.

Sherlock felt a sharp prick in his neck as Moriarty jabbed the needle in, and injected the substance into his body. Fire erupted in his veins as the liquid seeped into every part of him. He screamed in agony and clasped his hand over the puncture, but it was too late, it had already entered his blood stream. Sherlock's vision began to fade and the world around him began to deafen.

"Not the kind of needles you're used to, are they?" Moriarty teased, watching as Sherlock stumbled.

"No-n-no.." Sherlock faltered as he fell onto his back. Moriarty stood above him, smirking victoriously.

"Shhh..." He whispered, kneeling down beside him. Sherlock jerked away from him, still trying to stay conscious.

"God, you try so hard. It's a lot easier to just give up. Know when you are beaten, Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty taunted as black leeched into Sherlock's vision and eventually filled his eyesight with inky darkness.

"The game is over Sherlock. You lost." Moriarty's voice filled his head and echoed throughout his mind.

"You lost." The words repeated as Sherlock lost consciousness.


	4. Recognized

The world came back into view, burning away the darkness of his mind palace.

Sherlock sat up quickly and realized he was on the other side of the glass. His personal prison, air locked with a carbon door.

He stood up abruptly and immediately ran to the door, and pulled on it with all of his strength. It didn't budge. Sherlock scanned the door, trying to find a pressure point where the metal wasn't as strong, but each part of the door was equally strong as the rest of it.

Think. He told himself, taking in every detail in the cell. The glass was metallic glass, most likely reinforced with sapphire, meaning that it would never break.

It was the perfect prison. Unbreakable and unsettling in every single way.

Sherlock heard a large metallic screech, and turned to see the large door on the other side of the glass opening. Moriarty walked in with a victorious grin spread across his face.

"Morning sunshine." He teased, approaching the glass.

"You do realize that Im not your pet, don't you?" Sherlock stated sarcastically, crossing his arms.

"Oh, but you are so wrong." Moriarty replied.

"You've got a little something there." Moriarty stated, tapping on his cheek. Sherlock reached up to his face and felt something strange on his cheek. He looked at his fingers to see it was reddish-pink, and had sparkles in it.

Beeswax, cocoa butter and colouring. This is lipstick. He deduced, looking at the substance in confusion. Then, like a wave it hit him. It was Molly's lipstick.

He recalled being barley conscious when Molly had kissed his cheek.

How long did she stay in the cell with me? Did she watch me as I was unconscious? A chill crept down his spine. He felt embarrassment and fear wash over him.

Sherlock shook the memory out of his head and glared at Moriarty, his eyes blazing with icy fire.

"So, you have a client today, but that isn't until later. How about I show you around the prison?" Moriarty offered, a dangerous smile widening on his face as Sherlock tried to rub the lipstick off of himself. Moriarty inspected Sherlock's face and body.

"4 days since you've eaten. You must be hungry." He observed, enjoying how frustrated Sherlock looked. He was right of course, Sherlock hadn't eaten in about 4 days. He was too busy trying to concentrate with the series of cases Moriarty sent his way.

Moriarty snapped, and 6 soldiers entered the room. They opened the door and approached him. Sherlock backed away against the wall, his anxiety building. One of them forcefully brought his arms behind his back, and cuffed him tightly.

They pushed him out of his cell, creating a formation of soldiers around him. Together, they pushed him down the hall, until they reached a double set of metal doors labeled 'Cafeteria'. Moriarty opened the doors to reveal a huge room with tables and chairs lined up. On the furthest wall was a station to get food with a couple prisoners serving food to the others.

The entire room was filled with prisoners, all yelling and fighting. Sherlock noticed at least 60% of them were connections with Moriarty that he had successfully dismantled, which meant that they were here because of him. They were suffering because he had outsmarted all of them, and took apart their criminal organizations. Moriarty snorted in amusement as Sherlock's face drained of colour and hope.

"Let's introduce you to your friends, shall we?" Moriarty teased, shoving him inside the room forcefully. He skidded to a stop quietly, trying not to cause attention to himself and turned to try and leave. Moriarty blocked his path and pushed him back, smiling madly. He cleared his throat and the room dropped into silence immediately.

"Attention prisoners! You've got yourself a new inmate to break in." Moriarty announced loudly, pushing Sherlock in front of everyone. One by one, they realized who he was, and their faces washed over with rage. One prisoner stood up abruptly, staring at him with murderous intentions. Sherlock recognized him from one of his cases, Jordan Helliria. He was supposed to help a terrorist group blow up a major government building, but Sherlock had broken his clever code and stopped the bomb with hours to spare. The police tried to find him, but never could. Jordan was here this whole time, being punished for not being able to beat Sherlock.

Sherlock swallowed hard as he started to recognize most of the people in the crowd from his cases.

"Try not to kill him please, I need him." Moriarty chimed, leaving the cafeteria and locking the door behind him.

All of the prisoners immediately stood up and walked towards him. Sherlock backed away and ended up backing into a bunch of prisoners who had enclosed him in a circle. One of them approached him, most likely their leader. He was huge, with tattoos covering half of his face and body. His name was Martinez Muroingez, a sex slave trafficker. Sherlock had single-handedly taken apart his circle, causing him to drop billions of dollars in debt with Moriarty.

"You." He hissed, curling his hands into fists. Sherlock's mind began racing, trying to think of a way out of this one. With the ferocity of an animal, Martinez grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his jacket and lifted him up, readying his fist to pummel Sherlock into the ground.

"Enjoying bankruptcy?" Sherlock asked, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Im just gonna beat you until you can't breath anymore." Martinez spat, holding him tighter.

"No you won't, you're a coward, even still. Every time Moriarty walks through those doors, you basically get on your knees and bow to him. You are afraid, and you hide it from everyone, but not from me. I know what you'll do. You will lead everyone into battle, and when you get caught, you'll run away with your tail between your legs, and leave everyone else to suffer for you." Sherlock challenged, unable to stop being a smart ass. Martinez looked like he was about to snap his neck, but Sherlock just kept talking.

"You know Im right, you just can't think of anything to say because your skull is so thick. You think that muscle will make up for your lack of a spine and brain?" The room went silent as everyone stared in anticipation. Martinez had turned bright red with anger, and he raised his clenched fist, ready to break every part of Sherlock's face.

"Wait!" Rang out a female voice. Everyone's attention turned to Molly, who was serving out food with a group of prisoners.

"Don't break his nose or teeth, we wouldn't want to damage Moriarty's most beautiful prisoner, now would we?" She stated, smiling mischievously. Sherlock's icy glare reached her face, and he felt rigid shivers all over his body by the way she looked at him. Martinez's glare returned to him with a wicked smile.

"She's right, pretty boy. How about I add some colour to your cheekbones instead?" He asked sarcastically, readying his fist once more.

"I guess you could try, but no amount of beatings will change what a pathetic brute you are." Sherlock snapped, readying himself for the beating of his life.

His fist collided with the side of Sherlock's face painfully over and over again before throwing Sherlock to the ground. Winded, he tried to get up, but felt someone's foot come down harshly on his chest, blowing the rest of the air out of his lungs. A prisoner kicked him square in the side of his chest, causing Sherlock to roll over onto his stomach coughing and struggling to breath. He covered his head as the circle of people closed in around him, and began kicking him relentlessly. One of them had punted him in his temple, and his vision threatened to fade. Martinez ordered that everyone stop, noticing that Sherlock was about to lose consciousness. He had curled into a ball, and was breathing sporadically as the weight of his ribs crushed him.

"Come on. Let's leave the 'great detective' to deduce how he's going to survive against all of us. If he gets up, we will all pummel him into the ground and make sure he never moves again." Martinez spat, walking back to his meal along with the rest of his gang. All the prisoners returned to their seats, and began talking loudly about how they were going to break Sherlock Holmes, mentally and physically.

Sherlock was still laying on the ground, shaking uncontrollably as agony pulsed over every part of him. It felt like an enormous weight was pressing against his chest and crushing his ribcage. With a great amount of effort, Sherlock managed to get onto his feet slowly, fully aware of the entire room watching him. He turned to Martinez, who had already stood up.

"No, it's fine. Ta-take your time." Sherlock said through gasps of breath, holding his injured side.

"He's not very good with words, it takes him a litt-little longer, but he gets there eventually." Sherlock whispered to the group of prisoners closest to him. A couple snickers erupted from the group, resulting in murderous stares from the other side of the cafeteria.

Martinez charged at him with brute force. Sherlock slipped away just in time as they were about to collide. He screamed with frustration and started swinging at Sherlock. Sherlock effortlessly dodged each punch, grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. Martinez yelled in pain as Sherlock drove his foot into the back of his knees, causing him to drop to the floor.

What Sherlock didn't realize was the group of prisoners who had gathered behind him. One body-tackled him, sending both of them sprawled across the floor. A man's foot connected with his jaw painfully, and stunning him. More kicks to the ribs left him struggling to breath, and Martinez crawled on top of him and began choking him.

A large metallic sound was heard as the two doors slid open revealing Moriarty and a band of soldiers. Martinez immediately got off of Sherlock. The room died down. Nothing could be heard but Sherlock's violent coughing and desperate gasps of breath. Moriarty knelt down beside the shaking detective and he began laughing.

"Well Sherlock, I don't know what to tell you. I did promise that I would burn the **heart** out of you." Moriarty hissed at him. To his surprise, Sherlock's eyes were full of resistance.

"I have been infor-informed multiple tim-times that I do not have one." Sherlock managed to choke out between gasps for air. Moriarty grinned at his weak prisoner and stood up laughing.

"Here's the thing Sherlock, I would've let that fly if I you weren't mine, but you are. I own you, so you need to be punished" Moriarty stated, circling Sherlock like a vulture circling a carcass.

"Pu-punish me? If I wanted to be punished, I'd call Irene Adler" Sherlock mocked. Moriarty scoffed in amusement.

Without hesitation or remorse, Moriarty drove his foot into Sherlock's side over and over again, before crawling on top of his quivering body and grabbing him by his jacket collar. He mercilessly drove his fist into the side of his face repetitively, splitting his lip and bruising both sides of his face.

Sherlock rolled over and spit up blood, leaving a disgusting metallic residue coating his throat. Agonizing pain blossomed over every wound, burning hot and cold like a winter wildfire.

The group of soldiers heaved Sherlock to his feet, cuffed him and basically carried him out of the cafeteria as all the prisoners applauded.

They dragged him back into his cell, and shoved him inside, air locking the door behind them. Sherlock winced as the pressure in his chest grew immensely worse.

"Alrighty Sherlock, it's time for your first customer, so look enthusiastic!" Moriarty said as the heavy door opened slowly, revealing Molly Hooper.

Molly entered his cell and stood over his quaking body.

"Don't worry Sherlock, I'll take good care of you." She whispered into his ear, kneeling down beside him. Sherlock tried backing away, but his strength drained from him. Molly ran her hand along his back slowly.

"No, its okay. Don't move.." She ordered, tracing his spine with her fingers. She began to take off his trench coat slowly.

"N-no-don't-" Sherlock pleaded, clawing at his jacket. Molly threw it to the side and rolled him onto his back. As she unbuttoned his shirt, Sherlock tried to move away, but she held him still. Molly slipped his shirt off, revealing his bruised torso. She grabbed his arms, and pinned Sherlock's hands above his head with tight bonds.

Shame covered Sherlock's bleeding face as Molly observed his broken body in pleasure.

"Molly-" Sherlock began to beg before Molly put her finger on his lips. She leaned closer to him, their faces almost touching. She grazed his face with her fingers, resulting in painful stings from all of the deep cuts. Sherlock sucked in a breath and winced as the stinging became more painful.

Molly kissed his cheek softly as her hands ran through his hair. Sherlock turned his face from her, feeling exposed and extremely uncomfortable. She gripped his jaw tightly and forced him to look at her once again.

"I want you to tell me who Irene Adler is." She ordered fiercely, staring into the lost blizzard in his eyes. Sherlock hesitated, not knowing what to say.

Molly slapped him painfully, sending pins and needles across his face.

"Who is she?" Molly demanded, grabbing his jaw once more and bringing his face to hers. She felt his jawline tighten in her grip. He brought his face closer to hers, feeling her breath against his skin.

"None of yo-your business." Sherlock spat, his rage building up. Molly smirked, and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips on his. Surprised, Sherlock attempted to jerk his head away, but her hands held him there.

Sherlock snapped and he thrusted his head forward, hitting her in the nose. Molly recoiled and brought her hands up to her nose to see blood.

"You bad boy, you'll pay for that." Molly stated, grabbing something behind her.

Sherlock's eyes widened as Molly brought a chain whip down on his chest, creating a clean slash through his flesh. He shrieked as fresh pain boiled across his body. She stood over him, whip covered in his blood.

She whipped him mercilessly for the rest of the night.


	5. Suffocation

"Alright, Ms. Hooper, Your session is ove-" Moriarty trailed off as he walked into Sherlock's special room. The walls and glass were coated in blood, most definitely Sherlock's.

Sherlock was laying on the floor, quivering. All across his back were deep slashes, made by chain whips. A couple of the wounds were so deep they reached bone. Molly was standing over him, watching his shaking body in pleasure.

"Ah, yes. You are right. I should probably attend to him medically." Molly stated, observing the young detective.

Moriarty pulled out a drawer from the metal table, revealing sewing kits, gauze, bandages, casts and various of different pain medications. Moriarty grabbed all he would need and entered Sherlock's cell, closing the door behind himself. He placed the equipment next to Sherlock, and Molly knelt beside him and began to clean Sherlock's wounds.

Each dab of rubbing alcohol resulted in an inhale of pain from the detective laying on the floor. Molly made sure to run along the insides of the wound, mostly just to hurt Sherlock more.

"Moriarty, can I ask you a question?" Molly asked, her stare still fixed on Sherlock's wounded body.

"Ask away my dear!" Moriarty replied in one of his many stupid voices. He also picked up a cloth, soaked it in rubbing alcohol, and dug it into each of the wounds. Sherlock gripped at the floor, trying to escape to his mind palace to avoid the pain.

"Who is Irene Adler?" She asked, digging the cloth deeper into one of the most severe wounds, resulting in a stifled whimper from Sherlock. Moriarty scoffed, dipping his rag into alcohol.

"Irene Adler was one of my business partners. She was a dominatrix who nearly outplayed this famous detective. But, she fell in love with Romeo over here, and her whole plan fell to pieces." Just talking about the situation made him furious again, so he took it out on Sherlock's back.

"Did..did Sherlock love her?" Molly asked, jealousy dripping from her voice. Moriarty snorted in amusement.

"I honestly don't know.. I've always wanted to find out though..Let's ask him." Curiosity filled Moriarty, which made him excited. He flipped Sherlock onto his back, exposing more slashes across his chest and arms. Moriarty picked up the bottle of rubbing alcohol and held it over his chest, threatening to pour it on him. Sherlock began to struggle, trying to get up, but Molly pushed him back down.

"Did you love Irene Adler Sherlock?' Moriarty asked, holding it precariously close to his deepest wound.

"No- of course not. Im not capable of- feeling that wa-way." Sherlock replied, his voice hoarse with dryness and raw from holding in screams. Moriarty shrugged and dumped the entire bottle onto Sherlock's bleeding torso.

Sherlock shrieked as it leeched into every wound, blistering the inside of it. He saw the corners of his vision go fuzzy, and rolled over onto his stomach, throwing up all over the cell.

Moriarty doubled over laughing, tears forming in his eyes as he saw the detective struggle not to throw up again. A band of soldiers entered the room and picked his frail body up, carrying him out of the vile room that was covered in blood and vomit.

They carried him into the cafeteria and dropped him onto the floor in front of his fellow prisoners. Everyone turned and stared as the world's only consulting detective tried to get up and failed, blowing the wind out of himself. This caused the room to erupt in laughter. Martinez walked up to Sherlock, and looked down at him.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they? They learned us a while back not to talk back to Moriarty." He said, kneeling beside him.

"Ta-taught." Sherlock uttered through raspy breaths.

"What?"

"It-It's not 'learn-learned us' it's 'taught u-us'." Sherlock mocked. Martinez turned and stormed away from him, picked up a bucket of salt and a bottle of lemon juice, and returned to where he was laying. The other prisoners began to get riled up and start cheering as Martinez mixed the lemon juice with the salt, and dipped a dirty rag into it. Sherlock felt danger, and began to crawl away pathetically, making more laughter start in the room.

"Where do you think you're going smartass?" Martinez spat, grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him back. Four other prisoners came and pinned Sherlock's hands and feet onto the floor. Sherlock pulled against them, but he was far too weak to resist.

"Hold the little shit still! Im gonna teach him some manners." Martinez ordered as Sherlock squirmed between them all.

Martinez rung the lemon-soaked rag onto his back, causing lemon juice and salt to pour into each of the wounds. He was about to scream when they put a soaked cloth covered in salt in his mouth, gagging him. Martinez grabbed the filthy rag and dipped it in his concoction again, and this time he rubbed it against the slashes painfully, the grains of salt scraping the exposed tissue. Sherlock bit the rag hard, nearly shattering his teeth, as the boiling pain erupted on his back. By the time they were done with his back, it was raw with constant scrubbing and all the wounds were bleeding again.

"Turn him over, I think there's more on his chest." Martinez ordered, dipping the rag into the lemon juice and rolling it in a pile of salt. The prisoners managed to turn him over, even as Sherlock struggled to free himself. The open wounds on his back stung as he was pushed against the hard floor. They repeated this process on his chest, turning his skin red and raw with pain. It felt like someone was skinning him alive as the wounds kept reopening.

When they were finished with him, Sherlock's body was a mess. He was a mess. He laid there shivering, still in too much pain to move anything. Martinez held up the bucket of lemon juice and salt.

"We can't waste this! Don't you guys think that Sherlock looks a bit thirsty?" Martinez taunted, smiling eagerly.

No. God, please no. Sherlock thought to himself, realizing that they were about to waterboard him with lemon juice and salt. Sherlock rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl towards the exit, every movement sending searing pain across his body. He didn't get too far before two prisoners picked him up and forced him into a chair. His face was drained of colour, making him look basically translucent. Sherlock tried to pull against their strong grips, but it was no use. He was in no state to fight off three prisoners.

"Open wide!" Martinez chimed, lifting the bucket up. The other two prisoners forced his head back, and his held his mouth open as Martinez poured the foul liquid into his mouth.

It scalded the inside of his throat, making him begin to choke immediately. Sherlock coughed violently as the liquid continued to pour into him unendingly. He gasped for breath and got a mouthful of the foul substance instead. It felt like someone ripping the skin off of his throat piece by piece, until nothing remained, just blood. Eventually when the bucket was empty, they shoved Sherlock onto the floor and left him there, leaving a horrid after taste of salt coating his tongue.

Sherlock gagged and threw up, stinging his already raw throat. He threw up everything in his stomach and was too weak to move when it pooled around him.

"Oh Jesus Sherlock." Moriarty exclaimed as he walked into the cafeteria an hour later to fetch his new toy.

"Grab him and take him to the infirmary." He ordered, turning away from the foul scene. Moriarty turned to Martinez.

"Lemon juice and salt huh?" Moriarty laughed as he walked out of the cafeteria and followed them to the infirmary.

"Maybe that battered detective will learn his lesson this time." Martinez spat, grinning victoriously.


	6. Guilt

John rubbed his eyes sleepily as he heard his cell door open, revealing Mycroft.

"Are you serious John?" Mycroft asked as John stood up slowly and began walking out of the door. Mycroft stepped in front of him with a look of annoyance, and started reading the police report aloud.

"John. H Watson was found a few blocks from where Moriarty's headquarters are suspected to be. He had disabled the security measures around 221B, and snuck out when one of the guards wasn't paying attention. He was tracked down hours later, preparing to walk into Jim's hiding place, presumably to save Sherlock Holmes. He was carrying a couple guns and knives, and had a bullet proof jacket on. Upon arrest, he assaulted many officers. He is being held for contempt for 3 days." Mycroft read as John averted his glare.

"I gave you specific instructions not to go in there." Mycroft stated disapprovingly, putting the report down. John glared at him angrily.

"Sherlock has been in there for a week Mycroft! You tried to negotiate with Moriarty, and he refused. So, while you sit in your fancy office drinking tea, Sherlock is stuck in his own hell, being beaten and humiliated repeatedly." John spat, his temper running out. Mycroft felt a cold wash of guilt wash over him.

"We can't help him John." Mycroft said sadly, looking down at the floor. John stepped closer to him.

"We can, you're just too afraid." He hissed, brushing past Mycroft.

John stormed down the halls of Scotland Yard, fully aware of all the officers staring at him and whispering about 'the freak' who was currently locked up in Moriarty's torture den. John was so blinded by rage that he almost charged into Molly Hooper, who came in from the front door.

"Oh, hello John! I came to check up on you." She greeted, handing him a black coffee.

"Thanks Molly." John said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"How are you holding up?" She asked awkwardly.

"I won't lie to you Molly, Im awful. We let Sherlock down." He admitted, shuffling uncomfortably. Molly patted his shoulder.

"Im sure Sherlock will be okay John. There's nothing you could've done. Sherlock made that choice himself." She comforted, noticing the look of grief that crossed his face. John shook his head sadly.

"There's no way Sherlock is okay. Moriarty is obsessed with him, we should've known. Without him, we are all complete messes. Mrs. Hudson is taking more and more of her 'herbal soothers', Lestrade is drinking every night. And then there's me. Without Sherlock, memories of war haunt me and Sherlock isn't here to distract me with any of his insults, dangerous cases or beautiful violin music." John continued, swirling the coffee around in the cup.

"Ah, hello Molly." Mycroft greeted, walking up behind them both. Molly smiled in response, taking another sip of her coffee.

"So, you've been taking a lot of shifts at the morgue." Mycroft observed, noticing the bags under her eyes and blood speckles on her shoes, not knowing that the blood was in fact Sherlocks.

"Well, yes I have. Need to spend less time thinking I guess." She said, putting on a fake look of sadness. John shot Mycroft a warning glare, who guiltily looked away.

"Im going home, talk to you later Molly." John started to walk away when Mycroft grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Im sorry John." He apologized. John jerked his arm away.

"You don't need to apologize to me. Apologize to Sherlock." He spat, before walking away.

\- Sherlock's P.O.V -

The pounding in his head is what initially woke Sherlock. He squinted at the bright light overhead of himself, immediately deducing that he was laying in a hospital bed. Sherlock started to sit up, and felt a blistering fire erupt in every part of his body as he moved, which resulted in a low groan as he pushed himself up. His mouth was dry, and tasted of salt and lemons, which made his stomach turn.

Sherlock observed his beaten body, noticing that his entire torso was wrapped tightly in white gauze. His forearms were also wrapped up, and chained to the hospital bed. He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection of the table, seeing that his cheekbones were bruised severely and his lips were peeling and dry from dehydration. The hospital room he was in was bright white and small. It had shelves and shelves stocked with everything a hospital could ever need; Gauze, rags, pain medication, splints, casts, and a variety of surgery tools.

Footsteps echoed near the doors, causing Sherlock's entire body to tense. The door swung open as Moriarty walked in.

"Look who's up! You've been unconscious for about a day." He chimed, sitting next to Sherlock's bed.

"Next time, tell that thick headed moron not to hit me so damn hard." Sherlock mocked, his voice raspy and raw. He tried to edge away from Moriarty, but his torso hurt too badly to move much. Moriarty chuckled.

"You can tell him that yourself later. I spoke with your brother today." He stated, putting his feet up on Sherlock's hospital bed. Sherlock felt cold adrenaline flush through him.

"If you hurt him.." Sherlock threatened coldly. Moriarty chuckled.

"No, of course I didn't. He was trying to negotiate your freedom." Moriarty explained.

"You always say how your brother doesn't care, but he does. Infact, you're the only thing he really cares about, his younger junkie brother. He offered me money, favour, police, property, really anything for your release. I of course refused, but it is still heartwarming, don't you think?" He smirked.

What will it take to make him stop? Sherlock thought himself, chills crawling all over his body.

But, never mind 've got a clients to tend to. They've grown quite impatient waiting for you to wake up." He said as soldiers barged into the room.

"Pick him up." Moriarty ordered as he walked out of the room. Sherlock struggled and squirmed as the soldiers grabbed at him. Two grabbed him by the forearms, sending a searing pain up his arms as they picked him up and basically carried him out of the room.

As they approached his room, Sherlock could see at least 8 people lined up at the door. Most likely his 'clients'. He immediately recognized most of them from his past cases.

They all saw him coming, smiling eagerly as their new play-thing was carried through the door and shoved into his cell.

Sherlock landed harshly, his bruised ribcage whimpering at the sudden impact.

"What kind of joke is this Moriarty?" One of them spat, looking up and down at the broken detective.

"I spent 100k to have an hour with this asshole, and he's already beaten to a pulp!" Another complained. Moriarty rolled his eyes in annoyance. The entire room erupted in protest, complaining about the state of Sherlock.

"How is he supposed to feel all of the pain if he can barely stay conscious right now?!" One yelled, pointing at Sherlock.

"Yeah, I want him to be in agony, but in this state, he'll slip into a coma before I get to whip him."

Moriarty sighed in frustration.

"Look, it's not my fault he can't keep his goddamn mouth shut!" Moriarty replied. Half of the people continued to argue angrily.

"I've had just about enough of this." Moriarty stated, snapping his fingers. The guards opened fire on the clients who were arguing and shot until they were dead.

The remaining clients stared at Moriarty with wide eyes.

"Anymore complaints?" Moriarty asked sarcastically. The clients shook their heads.

"Good. Now, who wants to go first?"

"I'll go first." Stated a woman in the back, who had stayed silent the entire time. She handed Moriarty a stack of 500k and walked through the door. Soldiers opened the airlock door and she gracefully walked in. They sealed the door and walked out, leaving the two of them alone.

"Hello Sherlock, remember me?" She asked, kneeling down before him. His head shot up as he immediately recognized her perfume.

Kneeling in front of Sherlock was Irene Adler.


	7. The Woman

Irene Adler lowered her hood, revealing her stunning face.

Sherlock stared at her in shock, not knowing whether to feel afraid or relieved. Irene Adler noticed how unsure he looked, and gave him a comforting smile.

"I won't hurt you Sherlock." She whispered gently, putting her hand on top of his. He managed to sit up slowly, grunting at the stinging pains.

"You shouldn't be here." He warned, glancing quickly at the heavy door. Irene shook her head softly.

"I couldn't let you suffer here." She replied, slipping a satchel off of her shoulder and starting to unpack. She handed Sherlock a 2-litre bottle of water and some pain medication, which he gladly took. The water felt cool and soothing against his irritated throat.

"Why not? Why did you risk your security to come here?" Sherlock asked, taking another gulp of the cold water.

"You know why Sherlock, you took my pulse." Irene admitted, her gaze meeting his. Sherlock quickly changed the subject.

"How is John holding up?" He inquired, worried about his best friend. Irene's sad expression told him all he needed to know.

"He's awful. Memories of war keep him up at night, and guilt gnaws at him. My girls watch him pace back and forth in front of your chair." Irene took the empty bottle from Sherlock, and gave him another.

"Guilt? Why does he feel guilty?" Sherlock asked, sipping from the new bottle.

"Because he can't save you. John wants to march in here, kill Moriarty and free you, but Mycroft has been keeping him from doing that." Sherlock nodded understandingly.

"Mycroft can't risk going after Moriarty, he's too powerful." Sherlock stated. Irene reached for his arm, making Sherlock flinch.

"Let me look." She insisted, grabbing his arm once more. She slowly unraveled the tight bandages, revealing fresh cuts and slashes. Irene stared at them in horror.

"Jesus Sherlock, who did this to you? I mean, I am a Dominatrix, and this is excessive to me." She asked, careful not to touch the wounds. Sherlock's jaw tightened.

"Molly Hooper." He admitted, pulling his arm away from her. She looked at him in confusion.

"Molly... isn't she your friend?" Sherlock began wrapping his arm with the bandages again, tying it tightly.

"I guess not." He replied, anger rising in his body. Irene placed her hands on his, and looked deeply into his eyes. Sherlock swallowed hard, unsure of what to do.

"I will get you out of here Sherlock. I'll get you back to 221B Baker Street with John and all of your friends." She promised, gripping his hands tightly. She leaned close to his face and kissed his cheek, sending shivers all through his body.

"I-" He started to say, but stopped himself as Irene pulled away. Sherlock immediately missed her warmth and sense of comfort that filled him when she was close.

"Its okay, I know you can't feel things like that." She smiled at him, a strange emotion plastered on her face. Sherlock couldn't understand it, it was happy yet sad at the same time. She seemed distant but close.

"Anyways, we should make a plan of how to get you out of he-" The sound of the door opening stopped Irene. She threw the hood back on, hiding her face.

Irene slapped Sherlock hard as she heard Moriarty's footsteps approaching the glass.

"That's what you get for putting my husband in jail!" She yelled, putting on a fake accent. Sherlock stared at her with wide eyes.

"Nice disguise, but not good enough, Irene Adler. Professionally known as 'The Woman'." Moriarty chuckled at her shocked expression. She stood up slowly, lowering her hood once more.

"Jim Moriarty, haven't seen you in a while." Irene greeted, smiling mischievously at him. Moriarty paced the front of the cell.

"Last I heard you got beheaded in Iraq. Guess you've got your own little Prince Charming, don't you?" He teased, glancing at the young detective. Sherlock's eyes sparked with annoyance.

"Well Irene, it's been a nice visit. Im glad you came around, we've still got a debt to settle." Moriarty approached the glass. Irene backed away slightly.

"Luckily for you, I've got many cells for you to choose from." Moriarty mocked, snapping his fingers. Soldiers marched in and stood by him, ready to follow orders.

"Moriarty, you don't have t-" Irene pleaded, being cut off by a crazed cackle.

"No, of course I don't! Im still going to though." Moriarty signeled to the guards to go into the cell and grab her. They opened the door and filed in.

Sherlock struggled to his feet quickly and brought Irene behind himself, protecting her. His legs shook with the effort of standing, but he stood his ground bravely nonetheless.

"No, stop this Moriarty." He ordered, clenching his fists as the soldiers approached him. He felt Irene's hand caress his shoulder.

"It's okay Sherlock, I have to g-" Sherlock pushed her behind him once more.

"No you don't. This is my fault, I won't let him hurt you." He ordered, holding his arm out to keep her behind himself. Moriarty waltzed into the cell chuckling and stood in front of the soldiers.

"How cute and heroic of you Sherlock. That's quite a god-complex you've got." Moriarty mocked, stepping closer to him.

"I won't let you take her." Sherlock spat, readying himself to fight. Moriarty rolled his eyes, and fake-gagged.

"Get Irene Adler." He ordered his men, walking out of the cell.

The world slowed as they all came at him at once from every direction. One reached for him, and Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist, twisted it and kicked him in the stomach. Two soldiers grabbed Irene, who was kicking and screaming. Sherlock whipped around and thrust his elbow into one of their faces, dodging a punch from the other. The other man grabbed him by the collar and held him up against the wall, choking the air out of him. Sherlock managed to head butt him, causing the man to drop him. Irene was fighting off a guard, when another came up behind her with a needle and injected it into her neck. Sherlock was kicked in the side, rendering him immobile. Someone crawled on top of him and placed their hands over his mouth and nose, suffocating him. He clawed at the attackers hands, and saw Irene Adler being carried away in the corner of his eyes. Sherlock's throat burned with a need for air and his eyes watered. As his vision began to fade, the man released him. Sherlock coughed and heaved, sucking in breath violently. His chest felt heavy, as if someone was standing on him.

"No..-No-" Sherlock choked, watching them drag her unconscious body out of the room and down the hall. Moriarty began applauding from the other side of the glass.

"Very heroic of you Sherlock." He teased, kneeling ahead of the glass and tracing a heart on it with his fingers. Sherlock lunged at the glass and pounded his fist on it. Moriarty jerked back and started laughing.

"Poor Sherlock, all those emotions you hold so close are starting to spill." Moriarty wiped a fake tear from his face. Sherlock grimaced as a pulse of pain shot through his fist.

"Get some rest Romeo, you're going to need it for tomorrow." Moriarty chimed as he walked out of the room.

I need to get both of us out of here.

Sherlock delved into his mind palace, starting to piece together an escape plan to get him and Irene Adler out.

Step one, drug guard with needles kept in drawer. I'll have to do this when only one is in the room, so after a severe beating, but not severe enough to get me sent to the infirmary. He thought, pulling up a mental map of the prison.

The needle has to be the one they used on me, so most likely propofol. Must have a blue cap on it then. Sherlock imagined a list of anesthesia needles, inspecting each injection closely.

I'll have to quickly swipe the needle from the table, so pretend to fall onto it briefly. When locked in my cell, I'll stop moving and hold my breath until the guard walks in to check my pulse. Inject him with propofol, rendering him unconscious. He played the situation in his head.

Step two, pickpocket for keys, strip for uniform, change into clothes and sneak out of cell. Open heavy door slowly, as to not make as much noise. There might be more guards, so I'll have to grab more needles. Along the way, get another uniform for Irene.

Step three, get Irene. She will most likely be kept in the 'failure' cells. I'll tell the guards that Moriarty wants to see her, and we will both walk out.

Step four, get to main exit. The directions to the main exit should be left, right, right, straight, and up the stairs. There's at least 4 guards there, but we can slip through them in the uniforms. Keep our heads down until we are away from every guard.

Sherlock finished his plan, securing it safely in his mind palace. He stood up and faced the glass, his body still stinging from the whip marks.

"The game is on Moriarty."


	8. Complete Silence

Sherlock felt a dull kick to his head, causing his eyes to fly open and fall on the stare of an unamused guard.

"Get up prisoner. Moriarty wants you to go to the cafeteria. He says there's some sort of surprise." He ordered, heaving Sherlock to his feet. They cuffed him and dragged him out of the cell. Sherlock observed the main guard who was carrying him. He noticed the strange scent of two kinds of perfume, and how the female guard beside him was wearing male deodorant.

"So, when are you gonna stop cheating on your wife with this other soldier?" Sherlock asked, amused by the expression of shock turn to hatred. The girl turned a bright shade of red.

"Wait, you're married?" She asked, clearly unaware of his marital status. Sherlock snorted in amusement as the guard tightened the grip on his arm, nearly cutting of his circulation.

They shoved him in the cafeteria, locking the doors behind them. Sherlock expected to be immediately harassed by the other prisoners, but nobody came near him. He looked up to see all of the prisoners in a corner, huddled around each other.

Maybe they've found someone else to bully. Good for physical health, but bad for the plan. He thought, getting to his feet slowly. His back and chest still hurt badly, but he pushed through. Martinez turned and noticed he was standing there.

"Hey everyone look! It's everyone's favourite consulting detective!" He shouted, all of the other prisoners turning to look at him.

"I think he's pretty sexy.." A female shouted out, causing another female, most likely her lover, to shoot her an annoyed glare.

"So does Miss Adler apparently." Martinez mocked, stepping to the side and revealing Irene. She was laying on the floor and looked like she had been beaten fairly badly. She looked at him with a desperate stare, urging him to help her.

"Look how mad he looks! Don't worry Sherlock, we won't rough up her perfect body." One prisoner shouted at him, licking his lips. Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knew they were trying to rile him up, and it was working.

"Come on Sherlock, show us what your pretty girlfriend can do!" Martinez mocked. Sherlock's control of his anger slipped away, like water slipping through his fingers helplessly.

Sherlock charged at the group swiftly, blinded by his emotions. He threw himself at Martinez, sending them both tumbling across the floor. He landed on top of Martinez, and drove his fist into his face repeatedly until he fractured his nose. Another prisoner pulled him off and threw him at a table. Sherlock flipped over it, landing harshly on the floor. Breathing heavily, Sherlock forced himself up and grabbed a chair, hitting a prisoner with neon pink hair over the head. He then continued to throw the chair at the crowd of people running at him, hitting multiple people. Someone came up behind him with a rope and put it around his head, choking him as other prisoners kicked and punched him. He gripped at the rope desperately, trying to tear it off as each blow sent a dull pain shooting through him. Sherlock threw his head back, hitting the person in the face and loosening their grip on the rope. He whirled around and grabbed the prisoner, shoving him into the crowd of people that were tearing at him. He stumbled and landed on his back as the crowd stood over him, staring at him hungrily.

They all descended on him like a pack of wolves fighting over a carcass. They tore at Sherlock's bandages, revealing his healing wounds. A couple of them had grabbed his arms and pinned them above his head. He kicked and squirmed to no success as they repeatedly jabbed and kicked him. Blunt agony ached all over him, pulsing through his bones uncomfortably. One of the prisoners had even bit him, drawing blood and causing a screech to escape from him.

Guards barged in and pulled everyone off of him. Sherlock rolled over, coughing up blood viscously. A tin-flavoured residue coated his throat, nearly causing him to throw up again. One of the soldiers, probably the one he had deduced the cheating to, kicked him hard in the side of the head. Sherlock felt his vision shake and held his head, deducing that another kick to the head would render him unconscious. They lifted him up and shoved him towards the exit. Sherlock glanced behind him to see Irene Adler's terrified expression as she saw him being taken away. Sherlock turned to the soldier who was cheating on his wife.

"You. Get her out of-of the ca-cafeteria." Sherlock ordered through gasps for air. The guard snickered.

"Oh yeah? Why would I do that?" He asked with an unamused grin.

"Or else I-I'll tell that guard besi-beside you that you're chea-cheating on her with another soldier and tha-that you've got a wife." He threatened, smelling the same male deodorant on her. The soldier clenched his jaw in frustration.

"I need a patrol to escort Irene Adler out of the cafeteria pronto. She's causing too much ruckus." He ordered into his radio, ignoring the victorious sneer that spread on Sherlock's face.

They reached his cell and pushed him in. Sherlock used this to his advantage and steered himself towards the metal table. He knocked into it, and discreetly swiped a needle with a blue cap from inside the drawer. He sneakily put it in his pocket.

"Come on, let's go." The soldier insisted impatiently, grabbing him and pushing him into the cell, locking the door behind him. He walked to the door to leave, but was stopped by his supervisor.

"No, you need to stay here. Moriarty doesn't want Sherlock dying while he's out today." She ordered, closing the heavy door behind herself. The soldier sighed angrily and sat down.

Perfect, Moriarty isn't here. Time to put the plan in action. Sherlock thought, reviewing the plan in his head. The soldier watched him steadily.

Sherlock let a deep breath out, making it sound like he had just lost consciousness. He held his breath, trying to ignore the sudden need to breath. The soldier got up and stared at him, unsure of what was happening. Sherlock started to feel light-headed as the burning desire grew immensely. He walked into the cell and knelt down beside Sherlock, placing his fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse.

Sherlock abruptly thrusted the needle into his neck and injected it into him. The man struggled and clawed at his neck before lunging desperately at Sherlock, who kicked him harshly, making him drop and fade into darkness. Quickly, Sherlock stripped him and changed into the black uniform and grabbed the keys from his pocket. He locked the door behind him as he left, and grabbed several needles, just incase he needed them later. Sherlock threw the hood up, certain that the guards would know his face.

Sherlock gripped the door tightly and opened it, surprised at how heavy it was. With a heave of energy, he pushed it open and slipped out of a small crack that open.

The halls were mostly empty, except for a few guards scattered around and watching the cells. No one seemed to notice him. He walked as normally as possible, trying to ignore the stinging that came with every movement. Sherlock stopped in front of the 'failure' cell, and twisted the door open.

There was a long dead-end corridor with the walls bloodstained and old. Along both sides of the corridor were rows of cell, each with a label of a name. There was a guard sitting on a chair asleep with a magazine in his hands. Sherlock came up behind him and shoved the needle into his neck. The guards eyes flew open, immediately recognizing him. Sherlock held his mouth as he struggled and eventually laid still. He then proceeded to drag him into an empty cell, strip his uniform off and lock him in.

Sherlock walked up to the 5th door on the right labeled 'Irene Adler'. He unlocked it and opened it slowly.

Irene was curled up in the corner, shaking horribly. Sherlock took down his hood and approached her, putting her hands in his. Her eyes reached his, and her entire body relaxed.

"Sherlock.." She said, exhaling in relief. Sherlock gave her a comforting smile and handed her the clothes.

"Here, change into these. We're leaving this place." He ordered turning his back so she could change.

"You don't need to turn around." She teased as Sherlock's face flushed.

"Just hurry up and put his hat on, cover your face when we walk out." He stated, disregarding her flirtatious remark.

Irene finished changing and together they walked out of the 'failure' room. They quickly walked down the halls, Sherlock referencing the map every once and awhile in his head. Eventually, they approached a large staircase and saw daylight pouring down them.

"This is it, the way out." Sherlock stated, pulling her to the side.

"Okay, let's get out of here" She said, pulling Sherlock. He jerked his arm away.

"We can't go at the same time. You go first, I'll wait 30 minutes and then I'll go." Sherlock insisted. Irene grabbed his hand once more.

"But Sherloc-" She started to persuade.

"No, we can't risk getting caught. I'll be right behind you, I promise." Sherlock assured. Irene leaned towards him.

"Be careful." She whispered, closing the space between their lips. Sherlock was shocked, but he didn't move away for some reason he couldn't understand. The kiss was warm and passionate. Sherlock pushed her away, fire still dancing along his lips.

"Go now, before it's too late." He urged, gesturing towards the stairs. She caressed his face before walking up the stairs. Sherlock heard distant chatter.

"Heading home for the day?"

"Yep, my shift is over."

"Alright, have a good night." The sound of a door opening and footsteps walking away greeted Sherlock, relief flooding into him.

30 minutes crawled by slowly, every second making Sherlock more eager to leave. He stopped the timer in his head and walked up the stairs. The warmth of sunlight felt refreshing on his skin, and the cool breeze from the windows rejuvenated him. Two large glass doors separated himself from the outside world. Two guards stood on lookout, making sure no one left or entered without permission

"Leaving?" A guard asked. Sherlock kept his head down, not risking recognition.

"Yeah." He replied, towering the tone of his voice.

"Okay, have a good night." They pressed a button and the light above the door turned green. Sherlock urged himself not to rush through the doors.

"Yeah you too." He responded, turning back towards them as he opened the door.

"Going somewhere Sherlock?" Sherlock jerked his head around to see Jim Moriarty and two guards blocking his way. In an instance he felt all hope and relief drain from himself as he stared into his maniacal grin. The two guards grabbed him quickly before he had a chance to start running away. He didn't know what to say, he was utterly stunned.

"You can't just leave Sherlock." Moriarty mocked as the two guards pulled him back into the building.

"Sir!" A soldier shouted, running up the stairs as quickly as he could. He stopped in front of Moriarty, panting from the run.

"Sir, Irene Adler is gone." He announced between large gulps of breath. Moriarty turned to Sherlock again, who was grinning victoriously at him. Moriarty chuckled and suddenly gripped Sherlock by the throat and shoved him against the wall.

"You bad boy..." Moriarty hissed, staring at him murderously.

"It's ha-hardly my fault your guards c-couldn't recognize me." Sherlock choked, gripping Moriarty's hands on his throat. Moriarty leaned into his ear.

"Im going to make you wish that you were dead.." He whispered threateningly.

The guards shoved Sherlock down the halls roughly as Moriarty walked in front of them. Instead of walking to Sherlock's cell, he turned to a small door that read 'Solitary'.

"This is where I keep toys like you who don't feel like staying. I think you'll be the fourth or fifth person in here, since no one tries to escape any more. I used to put them in here for months until they starved, but we can't have you die when there's still so much do to." Moriarty explained, looking at the door proudly. Sherlock struggled and writhed, trying to pull free with no success.

"I think I'll keep you in here for 2 weeks with no social contact." He stated, opening the door.

The room was empty and tiny, only big enough for you to fidget, which would drive you insane. No light came through the door, leaving it completely dark. There were scratches lining every wall, most likely desperate prisoners clawing at the walls for an escape of any kind. Sherlock suddenly felt a rigid cold run through his spine.

"I think in your case you'll descend into madness quicker, since you're always trying to escape your own mind." Moriarty observed Sherlock's terrified expression with glee as the guards began to push him in. He jabbed his heels into the ground, trying to resist for as long as he could.

"No-" Sherlock stated desperately as they pushed him closer.

"This is your punishment Romeo!" Moriarty shouted crazily as they shoved Sherlock in and slammed the door before he could grab it, leaving him in complete darkness.


	9. Madness

Irene sat in Sherlock's chair, watching John Watson pace back and forth in front of her. She had come straight here after Sherlock hadn't come out of Moriarty's prison. Mycroft was also in the room, eager to here about his brother's well being.

"How is Sherlock?" John asked desperately. Irene didn't exactly know how to tell him.

"He's awful John. Im sorry, but he is just horrible." She admitted after a couple minutes of silence. She saw John's eyes fill with guilt.

"He's beaten daily by Moriarty's other prisoners in the cafeteria. Prisoners who are there because of Sherlock. People pay a lot of money for a torture session with him. Sherlock was covered in unhealed whip marks. I overheard that a group of prisoners had scrubbed his wounds raw with salt and lemon-juice and then waterboarded him with what was left. Sherlock was sent to the infirmary shortly after." She cringed as she explained Sherlock's conditions. Even mentioning the salt and lemon part made her gag. John put his face into his hands and Mycroft stared at the ground.

"How about mentally?" Mycroft asked sadly, keeping his stare fixed on the floor. Irene smiled sadly.

"He's still an asshole to everyone, not much has changed in that regard." She replied, followed by a sad chuckle. Her smile dropped suddenly.

"But, I think he's fighting an uphill battle. His mind is brilliant, but it's going to tear him apart. You've seen Sherlock, he shoots at walls when he gets bored." She explained, a weight dropping in her stomach. John glanced at the yellow smile face spray painted on the walls and smiled sadly as he noticed the bullet holes. Mycroft shook his head.

"Oh God." He muttered softly, taking a seat and holding his head. They all heard Mrs Hudson sobbing in her room downstairs, followed by footsteps leading upstairs. Molly Hooper appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, hello Molly." John greeted emptily. She walked into the room with a fake look of ignorance. Irene stood up suddenly, staring at her murderously. Molly looked back in surprise, not knowing that Irene knew what she did to Sherlock. John stood up next, looking at her with a concerned look.

"Irene, is everything okay?" He asked, noticing the way she looked at Molly.

"Molly Hooper?" Irene demanded, taking a step towards her. Molly glanced between Mycroft and John as if she was insane.

"Yes.." Molly replied cautiously. Mycroft rose.

"What's wrong?" He asked, confused by her sudden hostility. Irene pointed at Molly.

"You.. Sherlock said that you whipped him that night." She hissed. Molly's face flushed of colour as everyone spun around and stared at her. John glanced back at Irene, who had taken another step towards her.

"What are you talking about Irene?" John asked as Mycroft scanned Molly, searching for a motive.

"Sherlock told me that Molly Hooper, his friend, had whipped him within an inch of his life. She paid Moriarty a lot of money and saved his life to get a night with Sherlock. He's there right now because of her." Irene accused. Molly took a few steps back.

"Wha-what? Of course I did-didn't! Sherlock is my friend!" Molly insisted, still trying to keep her cover.

"Is that why you've been taking so many shifts? To pay Moriarty so you can torture my little brother?" Mycroft demanded with a icy rage laced in his voice.

"No! I-I needed to st-stop thinking about Sherlock!" She lied, shuffling uncomfortably.

"Is this because he never loved you?" Mycroft continued, the fury in his voice growing. Molly turned to run but stopped when she saw John whip out his gun and point it at her.

"Sit down. Now." John ordered, pointing at a chair. Molly cautiously sat, averting her face from everyone.

"What the hell have you done to Sherlock?" John demanded, nearly shouting at her. Molly began crying, her sobs filling the room of heavy silence.

"I-I did-didn't mean to." Molly persuaded.

"You didn't mean to? So the whip just got up and slashed itself across Sherlock's body?" Irene screamed, feeling her eyes water from sadness and pure anger mixed together.

"I jus-just wanted to-to be with him-" She sobbed, running her hands through her hair. Mycroft stomped across the floor and leaned towards her.

"Im going to make sure you never see the light of day again." He threatened rigidly, causing her to break into a series of sobbing. Mycroft called Lestrade and told him to come and arrest her.

Half an hour later, officers came and escorted Molly out of the apartment roughly. John was leaning against the wall, lost in his own thoughts. Irene was sitting in Sherlock's chair and Mycroft was pacing around the room angrily. His phone began ringing and he immediately recognized the number.

"It's Moriarty." He told them both. Their heads shot up and they grouped around him. Mycroft answered the phone and put in on speaker.

"Mycroft Holmes." He greeted into the phone.

"Hello IceMan! It's Jim Moriarty." Moriarty's voice came through the phone loud and crazily. John's jaw tightened just listening to his voice.

"What do you want Moriarty?" Mycroft asked impatiently.

"That's no way to treat a man who has the power and connections to tear down your nation.." Moriarty mocked. Mycroft bit down on his temper, trying not to start a war with him.

"You've got something in your possession that belongs to me. A pretty little toy named 'Irene Adler'." He explained, causing Irene's heart to start beating frantically.

"How about we meet tomorrow at 7pm to have a discussion about her and what I'll offer you." Moriarty continued, hanging up after cackling into the phone.

"Are you going to go?" Irene asked Mycroft.

"I don't have much of a choice.." He replied coldly.

"We don't have much of a choice." John corrected him. Mycroft sighed deeply.

"You can't come John." He ordered, looking sternly at him.

"You can't stop me Mycroft. I am coming." John insisted, not taking no for an answer. Mycroft considered it for a moment and decided it would be easier to bring him along than to try and stop him.

"Fine, but let me do the talking. Irene you can't come, he might just take you back." Mycroft explained to them, moving towards the door.

"Oh, and both of you, try not to strangle Molly. She needs to suffer for what she's done." He ordered walking out of the door and down the stairs. John sat back in his chair and began reading the old blogs about him and Sherlock.

"It's 12:35am John, aren't you going to sleep?" Irene asked him, yawning. John looked at her sadly.

"I can't sleep. I just stay up until my body forces me to." John replied, continuing to re-read the blogs for the twentieth time since Sherlock's kidnapping. Irene Adler turned to walk down the stairs, but stopped herself.

"John, if you don't mind, could I stay with you for a little while? I don't think I can be alone until Sherlock gets back." She pleaded, avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah, yeah of course you can. I don't know where you're going to sleep though." John replied.

"Could I sleep in Sherlock's room?" Irene asked.

"Yeah, I don't think he'd mind." John smiled at her, the pure look of relief on her face making him happy.

"Thank you John. Thank you so much." She thanked, hugging him and scurrying off to Sherlock's room.

Irene got into her comfy pyjamas, not lingerie for once, and curled into Sherlock's bed. She shoved her face into his sheets and wept into it, desperately praying that he would return soon. She wished to feel his presence again, to feel the soft tingling on their lips after they kissed. She drifted off shortly after, comforted by the feeling of Sherlock that his bed brought.

\- Sherlock's P.O.V -

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was bleeding or not, it was too dark to tell. He'd began scratching at walls on the 3rd day. He was pretty sure his nails were torn to pieces at this point. The suffocating darkness pressed on every single part of him and the deafening silence made him want to scream or to make any noise at all. Sherlock hadn't seen anyone for around 8 days. No one came to give him food, or to even beat him. He kept weeping into the darkness, faintly hoping to return to 221B Baker Street with John and solve crimes again. He begged the darkness to let him see Irene Adler once more, and to thrive in her warmth and feel the fire against her lips. He screamed at the void, wanting to play his violin and shoot at the walls. He wanted to listen to Mrs Hudson's complains, and to hear Officer Donavan call him a 'Freak'. Sherlock wished for any noise at all, any social contact, but none came.

Sherlock

descended

into

M

A

D

N

E

S

S


	10. Deals and Promises

John and Mycroft sat in two metal chairs, eagerly waiting for Moriarty to show up. The room was dimly lit, and guarded with many of his men. Mycroft brought his own soldiers for safety. They were sitting in Moriarty's office, which in itself was off-putting. They both footsteps echo down the halls, approaching the room. Jim Moriarty swung the doors open and smiled at his two guests crazily.

"Hello Iceman. I've noticed your taking care of Sherlock's pet while he is occupied." Moriarty observed, looking at John with amusement dancing in his eyes. John nearly reached across the table and choked the life out of him.

"Occupied?" John hissed angrily. Mycroft shot him a warning look. Moriarty took his seat.

"So, I've got a deal to make with you Mycroft. I want my pretty little toy, Irene Adler, back." Moriarty stated, folding his arms on the desk.

"Give her to me or else I'll tear your whole world down in hours." He threatened, sneering at him. John bit down the impulse to punch him.

"What if I don't want to?" Mycroft asked, grasping at straws. Moriarty smirked.

"I thought you'd say something like that. Tell you what, I'll let go of Irene Adler's debt if you release Molly Hooper of all charges." He bargained, leaning back in his chair. Mycroft glanced at John, who was staring at Moriarty with murderous fury. Mycroft pondered his offer for a little while, and finally decided it was his only choice.

"Alright, fine." Mycroft uttered, offering his hand to shake.

"Deal." Moriarty stated, shaking his hand. Moriarty then offered his hand to John.

"Nice to see you again John. How's life without Sherlock?" Moriarty teased. John's control of his temper slipped away as he lunged for Moriarty. He grabbed him by the collar of his expensive suit and nearly held him up.

"Let him go." John ordered, trying not to sound desperate. Two soldiers pulled John off of him and held him tightly. Moriarty chuckled, sweeping the dust off his suit.

"Sherlock is lucky, he's got a very loyal pet." Moriarty chimed, observing John. He leaned into John's ear.

"I'll tell him you stopped by.." He whispered. The amount of anger coursing through John's veins made him feel feverish. Moriarty gestured dismissively at them both, and soldiers escorted them out of his headquarters. They were nearly out of the doors when shouting was heard down the halls, followed by gunshots. The soldiers all turned to the direction of the noise and readied themselves to shoot.

"Sir! Sir, watch out! He's got a gun!" Someone yelled from down the stairs, followed by another person sprinting up the stairs.

"Oh my god.." Moriarty muttered as Sherlock came up from the basement, holding a gun.

"Sherlock?" John exclaimed, filled with happiness at the sight of his best friend. Sherlock's condition was awful. His hands were shaking horribly as they clenched the pistol tightly. He was inhumanely thin due to malnourishment and looked sickly. His fingers were covered in blood and his nails were torn to bloody pieces, like he had been scratching at something for a while. Sherlock whipped around and aimed for Moriarty's head, breathing rapidly.

"Sherlock, you might want to think about this..." Moriarty threatened, gesturing to the guards to leave him alone. Reluctantly, the guards lowered their weapons.

"Y-you lock-locked me in a r-room for two week-weeks. You le-left me in the da-dark with no con-contact with anyone. I was al-alone with my mi-mind, and it to-tore me apa-apart." Sherlock spat, nearly losing his balance as his legs threatened to give out.

"Im no-not going ba-back down th-there." Sherlock repeated it over and over again like a prayer. His hands shook as he brought the gun to his temple and closed his eyes.

"No! Sherlock stop!" John commanded, moving slowly towards him. Sherlock's eyes opened, but seeing John here only made it harder.

"I can't Jo-John. I can't go-go back John- please..." Sherlock pleaded, his eyes watering.

"Sherlock, hand me the gun. You've been in isolation for so long, you're not thinking straight." John persuaded, moving closer.

"Ple-please don't ma-make me go back John." He begged, feeling his body begin to go numb. John got close enough to steadily remove the gun from Sherlock's shaking hands. His legs gave out completely and he fell into John, who supported his weight effortlessly since he was so thin from being starved.

"You aren't going back Sherlock, you're coming back home." John promised, lowering his best friend onto the floor.

"John-John don-don't leav-leave me-" Sherlock closed his eyes softly as he fell unconscious. John gently placed his head down. He got up to see all of the guards pointing their guns at Mycroft and him. Mycroft looked pale and his eyes were watering. He couldn't stand to see his little brother in this state.

"Well, that was.. interesting. Thank you for the assistance Dr Watson, but you all have to leave now." Moriarty ordered, observing the weak detective's shallow breathing.

"What? No, we are taking Sherlock!" John insisted as two guards pulled him away.

"No, I don't think you are." Moriarty teased, sneering at John. Mycroft was speechless and numb, unable to fight back against them.

"No! I promised him! I promised!" John screamed, kicking and squirming to try and get away. With a lot of effort, six guards managed to get John out of the building, along with Mycroft.

"Take Sherlock into his cell, and figure out how he escaped Solitary." Moriarty ordered, eager for his favourite toy to wake up again.

John yelled and pounded on the door, demanding to be let in again. Mycroft sat on the curb holding his head in his hands. Eventually, John gave up and sat down beside him.

"I promised him that he wasn't going back..." John murmured sadly. Mycroft stayed silent, unable to think of anything to say.

"I lied."


	11. Would It Matter?

With a low moan, Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and the world came back into view. The sight of his old cell made his stomach flip surprisingly. He realized that he was hung from the ceiling by his wrists, which were sore from holding him up. In an instance, in all came flooding back to him. He had manipulated a guard into opening the door from solitary and stolen his gun. Then he threatened Moriarty, and passed out in the arms of his best friend. The fuzziness in his vision cleared, revealing Moriarty sitting in front of him.

"Hello Sherlock." Moriarty greeted, cocking his head to the side. Sherlock twisted his wrists, desperately trying to free himself. The metal shackles on his hands cut into him deeply, making every movement extremely painful.

"I still don't understand how you managed to get that guard to open the door.." Moriarty stated curiously. Sherlock smirked smugly.

"He had too many em-emotions." Sherlock replied vaguely, his voice rugged and raw from disuse. Moriarty chuckled.

"Aren't ordinary people adorable?" Moriarty teased, getting up and standing closer to him.

"Anyways, we need to do something about your attitude Sherlock. Toy's aren't supposed to try and murder their masters." He stated playfully, grinning.

"I am everything you cannot control." Sherlock spat angrily. Moriarty picked up a lead pipe and twirled it around in his hands.

"We'll see about that.." He threatened, gripping the blunt object with one hand.

\- John's P.O.V -

John slipped his hood on and began unpacking the duffle bag he brought with him. He peeked around the corner at Jim Moriarty's headquarters. Two guards were watching the entrance.

I have to be smart about this. John told himself, screwing a silencer onto his pistol. He got up and swiftly walked towards the glass doors.

"Hey, clocking in?" Asked one of the soldiers.

The guards didn't have time to react before John whipped around and shot one in the head and the other in the chest. He continued down the stairs quickly and walked through the twisting halls until he found the door labeled 'Sherlock Holmes'. Quietly and cautiously John opened the door and entered the room.

Moriarty turned around to face John just as he was about to strike Sherlock's ribs with the pipe again. Sherlock stared at him.

"Joh-John?" Sherlock asked weakly. John lifted his pistol up to Moriarty's head, who was smiling.

"Never expected that, I thought IceMan would've held you back.." Moriarty observed him.

"He tried, but he underestimates the extents I will go to in order to save my best friend." He stated, glancing at Sherlock.

"Aren't you going to shoot me Dr Watson?" Moriarty mocked, pressing the pistols barrel against his head. John shook his head.

"No, Im going to make sure you die slowly and painfully." He threatened, staring hatefully into his excited eyes. Moriarty began laughing histarically. John tightened his grip on the gun, his laugh making him uneasy.

"You find that funny?" John taunted. Moriarty shook his head, still trying to talk through spurts of crazed laughter.

"No! What's funny is that you didn't check the pulse of the other guard you shot." Moriarty admitted as the door swung open, revealing a small army. John spun back towards Moriarty and pulled the trigger, but he had already ran out of the way and grabbed John's pistol, pointing it at his temple and forcing him to his knees.

"John! J-John no-no!" Sherlock shouted, wriggling in his chains. John knelt in front of Moriarty with his hands behind his head. The feeling of disbelief settled into defeat.

"Im sorry Sherlock. Im so-so sorry.." John apologized, looking sadly into his best friend's eyes. The bitter feeling of anguish greeted Sherlock once more.

"No-no stop-stop-" Sherlock repeated over and over as they cuffed John.

"Sorry Sherlock, but I already own you. There's nothing to trade now." Moriarty said victoriously.

"It-it's not fai-fair." Sherlock stated, all hope and happiness disappearing in seconds, replaced by a dull, empty feeling.

"So Sherlock, let's see what you'll do to save your friend from pain.." Moriarty sang playfully.

It's not fair...

"Look at you.." Moriarty observed his facial expression of pure hatred and defeat.

"Too tired to hold on, but too stubborn to let go.." Sherlock felt a tear slide down his cheek, and tried his best to hide it from Moriarty. He immediately wiped it from his face and licked it. Shame flooded Sherlock like a wave.

"Don't try and hold your tears back Sherlock, it makes me oh so happy to see you cry.." Moriarty whispered into his ear. Sherlock jerked his head way from him.

Even if I could make you feel the pain you've caused me, would it matter?

Would it fill the empty void you've left in me?

Would it heal the wounds and cover the scars so I have no reminder of what you did?

Would it wipe my memory of all the torture?

Would it let John Watson sleep peacefully for the first time in 2 months?

Would it heal the emotional trauma you've caused me?

 **Would it matter?**


	12. The Game

Sherlock was thrown violently to the floor of his cell. John was forced to kneel in front of the cell with his hands handcuffed.

"Everyone leave." Moriarty ordered, standing behind John and holding a gun. John had been shouting and screaming at all of them, so he was now gagged with a rag. Muffled shouts escaped from him as every guard in the room left, leaving the three of them alone. Sherlock grunted as he got to his knees, every movement making each part of him vibrate with agony.

"Now let's play a little game.." Moriarty chimed, leaning over John.

"Sherlock, you're going to do what I say or else I'll shoot your favourite pet in the head." He pulled out a gun and pressed it against John's temple. John began struggling and more muffled shouts escaped the rag.

"O-ok, fin-fine. Just don't hu-hurt John." Sherlock pleaded, his voice faltering and cracking. Moriarty cackled at his new submissive personality. He was finally breaking in his new toy.

"Round 1. Cut yourself deeply with this knife until I'm satisfied." Moriarty slipped a sharp blade through the slot on the carbon door. It fell to the floor with a klang. John was squirming more now and his face was red with anger.

Sherlock took a deep breath and grabbed the knife, his hands shaking horribly. He hesitated, deducing that the blade was made of obsidian enforced steel, one of the sharpest materials.

"Tick tock Sherlock, I haven't got all day." Moriarty taunted, fake-yawning. He swallowed his fear and gripped the knife tightly.

Sherlock went to work, cutting into his arms, chest and back. Each cut was fairly deep, a few of them even reached bone. They all stung horribly, making his eyes water as he continued to cut himself. An empty pain shot across him each time the obsidian blade sliced into his skin. Blood pooled around him as the fresh wounds oozed. Eventually, it was enough, which was good because Sherlock had started to feel light-headed from blood loss.

"Im impressed, good job!" Moriarty mocked, studying his bleeding body with pleasure.

"Next round. Cauterize each cut with this." Moriarty demanded, slipping a lighter into his cell. Sherlock's eyes watered as he weakly grabbed the lighter. John had gone pale and his eyes were wide with horror as he watched his best friend abuse himself. Sherlock shook his head in defeat, signalling to John that there was no other way.

He flicked the lighter on and an orange flame flickered to life. With a deep breath, Sherlock brought the lighter across one of his cuts. It blistered and boiled painfully as the orange flame danced across the slash. Soon enough, the slash was covered with red, raw skin which had blisters forming around it.

2nd degree burn.. Sherlock observed, nearly shattering his teeth as he tried not to cry out.

This is only the first one. Surely the others will be 3rd and 4th degree. The thought alone made his heart sink and drown in a void of hopelessness.

He began again, flicking the lighter on once more. He continued this process across each of the wounds, and each one hurt more than the last. When he was done, it felt like his entire body had been dipped into molten lava. Blisters were popping and forming across each of the slashes, and the skin was tight and burned, making each breath hurt as it tugged against the sensitive flesh. Sherlock felt tears running down his face, but it hurt too much to wipe them away so he let them fall and hoped John didn't notice.

"Wow, look at you.." Moriarty stated playfully as John tugged against his bonds. The room smelt of burned flesh and blood, making John nearly throw up.

"Next round. Take the knife and stab it through one of your hands." Moriarty commanded, licking his lips in anticipation. John's shouts and screams became obnoxiously loud, causing Moriarty to roll his eyes and take the gag out of his mouth.

"No more! Leave Sherlock alone Moriarty, let me do it." John begged desperately. Moriarty snickered at his loyalty.

"Hmm, interesting. It's up to you Sherlock." He grinned evilly.

"Please Sherlock, let me take some of the pain." John pleaded. Sherlock averted his eyes and shook his head.

"N-no. J-John this is my fa-ult. It's my puni-punishment, th-this wouldn't have happened i-if weren't fo-for me." Sherlock insisted, shame coating his conscious. John stared at him in shock.

"What? No! Sherlo-" Moriarty shoved the rag back into John's mouth.

"Tough luck.." He whispered, making John struggle harder.

Sherlock shut his eyes tightly as he positioned the knife above his left hand. He forced the blade down onto his palm, piercing through all the layers of bone and skin until it reached the other side. He screamed horrifically as waves of white-hot pain poured over his hand. Sherlock gripped the blade tightly and pulled it out of himself with another shriek. He cradled his hand softly, trying his best to muffle the sound of himself whimpering. His vision threatened to fade. He tightly shut his eyes, not daring to look at the bloody mess.

"Brilliant.." Moriarty stated, his voice coated with satisfaction. He walked into the cell and dragged Sherlock out of it, dropping him on the floor. He studied each of the blistered wounds with excitement coursing through him. Moriarty stuck his finger into one of the deepest cuts, making Sherlock flinch and hold in a surprised scream as a searing pain opened on his back. Moriarty sucked the blood off of his finger, amused by the wave of humiliation that fell over the battered detective. John had stopped struggling and screaming, he was now silent with mortification.

"Got any smart-ass comebacks or clever deductions?" Moriarty asked, leaning his face closer to Sherlock's. Sherlock kept his mouth shut and avoided Moriarty's insane gaze. With a smug smirk, Moriarty placed his hand on Sherlock's head and began stroking his hair.

"See? Every toy gets broken in eventually. You just took a little longer, didn't you?" Sherlock felt his dignity completely crumble as Jim Moriarty continued to 'pet' him. Quiet sobs came from John Watson as he watched his friend being humiliated.

Sherlock's shaking hands reached into Moriarty's jacket and gripped the pistol, pulling it out slowly. He managed to get it without Moriarty noticing. As Moriarty stood up, Sherlock jumped to his feet and pushed the barrel of the pistol to his head.

"I am not your toy." Sherlock spat angrily, his entire body shaking with the effort of standing up. Moriarty's expression changed from surprised to amused.

"Even if you did kill me and manage to get away, your life is over Sherlock." He whispered, pressing his head against the pistol harder.

"You'll never be able to sleep without a vision of me hanging over your quivering body. Every second of every day will be filled with reminders of me and our wonderful times in your cell. Your scars will never heal, and it will be a constant reminder of what I did to you. A nagging feeling of emptiness will fill you, and you will feel it until the day you die." Moriarty threatened, grinning crazily. Sherlock was shuddering, his mouth quivering with fear and sadness.

"I'll kill you slowly every day.." Moriarty breathed, still smiling. Sherlock suddenly stopped shaking, and his mind cleared. The pain seemed to numb for a short period of time.

"You can't kill what isn't alive." Sherlock stated as he pulled the trigger.


	13. Hallucinations

Moriarty fell backwards, his face stuck in a silent scream. Blood pooled around him, spilling into the cracks on the floor. Sherlock breathed shallowly, watching as the colour drained from his captor's face. He turned to John and un cuffed him.

"Jesus Sherlock!" John exclaimed, grabbing the pistol from him. Sherlock's legs began to shake and feel numb. He dropped to his knees as all of the adrenaline leaked out of him. John whipped out his phone and dialled Mycroft's number.

"Mycroft Holmes.." Mycroft answered, out of breath, most likely because he'd been working out again.

"Sherlock shot Moriarty in the head. Send the FBI to his headquarters and come get us." John ordered, pacing the room.

"Wait wha-" John hung the phone up and rushed to Sherlock's side.

"Are you alright?" He asked, immediately feeling stupid after the words left his mouth. Sherlock remained silent, staring at Moriarty's corpse.

"Stupid question...of course you aren't.." John muttered under his breath.

"He's r-right John.." Sherlock mumbled, averting his gaze from the pool of blood.

"Even in dea-death, he can st-still torture me." Sherlock's eyes met John's. They were so sad and distant, like a blizzard had melted into a storm. John shook his head.

"No he can't Sherlock. Moriarty is dead, he can't hurt you anymore.." John reassured, wrapping his arm around his quivering friend.

"John, I-I don't want to l-live an-anymore.." Sherlock admitted, tears immediately filling his vision. All words escaped him as he stared at Sherlock.

"It's..it's going to get better Sherlock." John insisted, shocked by what he said. Sherlock gave him a sad smile.

"It never ge-gets better John, we just get us-used to it." Sherlock stated, starting to feel light headed. He'd been fighting to stay conscious for so long, that all he wanted was to sleep and never wake up. He let himself fade from reality, listening to John insisting that he stay awake. The words echoed farther and farther away from him as the world disappeared into darkness.

The next time Sherlock woke up, he was laying in a hospital bed. Every part of him was aching and stinging. He had IV's in both arms and fresh gauze wrapped around all of his injuries.

"Hey, look who's finally up." Sherlock's heart leapt as he turned, expecting to see Moriarty. Instead, he found Lestrade, who had massive bags under his eyes and smelt of coffee and alcohol.

"Easy there Sherlock.." Lestarde comforted, smiling at him kindly.

"Where...where the hell am I?" He asked, feeling sluggish from all of the pain medication.

"A hospital by Mycroft's office." He replied, chuckling as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"God forbid he drive more than 30 minutes..." Sherlock joked.

"How long have I been out?" Sherlock asked, noticing that the time of day was different.

"3 and a half weeks.." Lestarde answered.

"When they found you Sherlock, you were on the brink of starvation. Blood loss was serious and they found 3rd and 4th degree burns all over your body. According to them, you should've died weeks ago." He explained, noticing the look of shock that crossed Sherlock's face.

"I almost wish I did.." Sherlock stated, half-joking. He noticed Lestrade shuffle uncomfortably and deduced that John had told him about his meltdown.

"Well, uh, John wanted to know when you were awake, so I'll grab him. Be warned, he may hug you." Lestrade explained, breaking the awkward silence.

"Hug me?" Sherlock repeated, staring at him in confusion.

"Sherlock, they didn't think you were going to wake up. He's very worried.." He continued, walking out of the room.

See? This is what you do to people Sherlock.. His brother's voice scolded throughout his mind-palace.

You impress them and then you fail them. You hurt them in the process because you are a selfish man. Sherlock gripped his head, urging the voice to stop.

You should've stayed with me Sherlock. We could've had so much fun in your special cell.. Moriarty's voice suddenly appeared, making Sherlock's eyes fly open. He began panicking, his heart beating viciously out of control.

"Stop. St-stop it you're not real!" Sherlock shut his eyes tightly and shouted, trying to calm his breathing.

Oh Sherlock, Im never really gone. I'll be here forever, torturing you till the end of your life.. You can't escape me.. Moriarty chimed, memories of torture flashing through his mind-palace. Sherlock gripped his head tightly, desperately trying to get the memories out of his head. He didn't want to remember being whipped, or being water-boarded with salt and lemon juice. Suddenly, he felt someone stroking his hair. His eyes shot up and met Moriarty's, who was standing over him.

I am real Sherlock. I am here.. He insisted, continuing to pet him. Sherlock hopelessly tried backing away, and ended up falling off of the bed. He landed on the ground harshly, making his healing wounds sear with new pain. Moriarty pranced over to him, and looked down at his shaking body pitifully.

Poor Sherlock, you're so lost without your master. Don't worry... He leaned down into his ear. Sherlock froze with fear, his breath catching in his throat.

I'll be back very soon... Moriarty whispered, sending a numbing wash over Sherlock.

"Sherlock! Jesus Sherlock what the hell!?" Lestrade exclaimed, seeing him on the floor and white with terror.

"It-it's him, Moriarty-he's ba-back for me-" Sherlock choked, glancing over to John and Lestrade. John ran to his side, making him flinch.

"Sherlock, Moriarty is dead." John insisted, placing his hand on his shoulder.

"No-no he's right there-" Sherlock pointed to where Moriarty was standing and saw no one there. He stared in disbelief at the empty spot, his heart sinking.

"Here, let's get you back into your bed.." John said, hauling Sherlock to his feet with ease and helping him back onto the bed. Sherlock was trembling, and his skin ice cold to the touch.

"See Sherlock? Everything is fine. Just go to bed and heal, you'll be back in Baker Street in no time." John assured, putting dozens of blankets on him.

"I uh, I should get going. G'night John, Sherlock." Lestrade quickly walked out of the room, unable to see Sherlock in that state. John sat in a chair across from him. Sherlock rolled over and hid his face from John, embarrassment flooding him.

"John..?" Sherlock asked quietly after half an hour of silence. John shook himself awake.

"Yeah?" He replied, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Im sorry.." Sherlock apologized, clenching his fists under the sheet. John sat up quickly.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, starting to feel nervous.

"Im sorry that you saw me like that. Im sorry that I made you worry, and Im sorry that I allowed Moriarty to do this to us." He stated, a weight lifting from his chest. John stood up suddenly, his heart beating furiously.

"Don't apologize. None of that was your fault." He ordered angrily. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him.

"B-but.. I underestimated Moriarty's obsession with me. I put you in danger, and I deserved what happened to me." Sherlock admitted, trying to stop the memories from coming back to him.

"Never say that you deserved that!" John screamed, slamming his fist down on the table. Sherlock jerked back, surprised by how angry he was.

"You didn't deserve to be beaten every day! You didn't deserved to be humiliated and whipped constantly!" He shouted. Sherlock winced as his words made the memories stronger.

"That is Moriarty's fault, Not yours!" He insisted, noticing that the slight mention of Moriarty's name made Sherlock uncomfortable. John recollected himself and sat down, instantly feeling guilty that he brought up his name.

"I-Im sorry Sherlock.. I shouldn't have brought that up." John apologized, holding his head in his hands. Sherlock tried to think of something to say to comfort him, but came up nothing. He took a deep breath, calming himself and pushing the memories away.

"So.. did Mrs Hudson notice that I put the doorbell in the oven yet?" Sherlock asked jokingly, hoping that humour could break the silence. John slowly looked up at him, a grin tugging at his lips.

"What?" He asked, laughter building up in his throat.

"I may have cooked the doorbell. Little experiment, I wanted to know how quickly she could find it." Sherlock explained, smiling humorously. They both broke into laughter, barley ably to breath through giggles. Sherlock noticed that this was the first time he'd laughed in 3-4 months.

"You're insane." John stated, still chuckling.

"You're just realizing this now? Your grasp of reality troubles me John." Sherlock joked, smiling mischievously.

"God I missed you Sherlock." John stated, getting up and wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

"Oh, ermm.." Sherlock muttered, not knowing what to do with himself. He slowly put his arms around John, returning the hug.

Oh my poor toy. I almost feel bad for him. He doesn't realize that he's about to be broken again..

But I'll be back, oh yes I'll be back.

You better get ready Sherlock Holmes,

Your master is returning.


	14. Did You Miss Me?

6 months slowly dragged on as Sherlock recovered in the hospital. All he wanted to do was go back to 221B Baker Street and forget about everything, but they wouldn't let him leave. His wounds weren't healing properly due to his unhealthy eating habits and because they were so severe. Moriarty continued to toy with him in the deepest corners in his mind, making him despise being alone. John stayed with him, sleeping in his hospital chair and refused to leave his side. Mycroft, Irene and Mrs. Hudson visited him often. Today, Sherlock was playing his violin beautifully in his bed as a storm raged on outside the hospital.

A nurse stomped into his room, trying to keep her facial expression kind.

"Sir, could you stop playing for a while? You've been playing for hours." She asked, frustration nipping in her voice. Sherlock stopped playing and glared at her.

"Well, I could stop playing, but you could also stop drinking excessively and take care of your 2, er.. no, 3 children." He spat, quickly observing every detail. Her mouth hung open and tears formed in her eyes. She ran away sobbing loudly.

"Jesus Sherlock, that's the 5th nurse this month." John sighed deeply, rolling his eyes.

"It's hardly my fault they all cry so much.." Sherlock stated coldly, holding up his violin once more. John shook his head and grabbed the violin from him.

"No more playing until you eat something Sherlock." John ordered, putting the violin down. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What are you, my babysitter?" He spat angrily, reaching for his maroon violin once more. John slapped his hand and placed the violin further away.

"Apparently yes since you can't take care of yourself!" John shouted, crossing his arms. Sherlock shot him an annoyed glare. A doctor peeked her head in the doorway. She had dark skin and short black hair that framed her face nicely.

"Is everything alright?" She asked carefully. Sherlock had yelled at her yesterday for disrupting his experiment with blood and orange juice by pouring it out. The blood was in fact Sherlock's, which had resulted in John screaming at him for hurting himself further.

"Yes, everything is fine." Sherlock answered, still staring at John.

"No, Sherlock isn't eating anything." John told her, pointing to the untouched food tray. The doctor smiled in amusement.

"Well, I have someone here to see him. She can probably help with that." The doctor walked away as Irene Adler strolled into the room, her beautiful eyes meeting Sherlock's.

"Hello sweetie." She greeted, gracefully walking up to his bed side. She was wearing a gorgeous black dress that sparkled mystically under the bright lights. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves of silky curls. She had deep, red lipstick on and stunning gold highlight that shimmered in the light.

"Irene." Sherlock replied, noticing that he'd been staring at her. She had come to visit him often since he'd been kept there.

"Thank god. Can you get Sherlock to eat something please?" John asked, referring to his food tray. Irene giggled and picked up the food tray, placing it on his bed.

"Sherlock you need to eat something. Don't you want to get out of this place and solve crimes again?" She asked, gently holding his wrist. He opened his mouth to say something clever, but she put a finger over his lips.

"London needs their clever detective back. Eat." She ordered, smiling mischievously at him. Sherlock clicked his tongue in frustration and picked up the sandwich. He began eating it, and started to realize how hungry he actually was.

"How the hell did you do that?" John whispered, watching as he swiftly finished the first half of the sandwich.

"He's sort of like a pet. Just reward him for doing something good." Irene responded playfully as Sherlock picked up the second half.

Pet.. Sherlock's hands began shaking, dropping the sandwich back onto the platter.

You're my pet Sherlock. Mine forever.. Moriarty's voice chimed. He swallowed hard as the pigment in his skin drained.

My poor toy, you are so lost without me.. Sherlock shut his eyes tightly, trying his best to hide his terror from them.

You should add some flavour to that bland meal with some salt. He mocked, forcing the horrid memories to rise once more.

Don't you like salt Sherlock? His eyes shot open and fell on the packet of salt beside the glass of juice. His mouth immediately tasted like the horrible liquid Martinez had forced him to drink, and coated his throat with an awful after taste. Bile started to rise in his throat, filling his mouth with saliva.

Just like old times.. Sherlock clenched his teeth, urging his body not to throw up.

The feeling of the slimy substance being forcefully poured down your throat. Do you remember the texture? Grainy and mucky, like sand mixed with water. The memory played over and over in his head.

Eventually, Sherlock couldn't hold it back anymore. He gripped the trash can beside his bed and brought it up to himself. Sherlock surged forward, vomiting the contents of his stomach into the trash can, mostly consisting of sandwich and stomach acid. He spat into the bucket, desperately hoping it would get rid of the foul aftertaste that glazed his mouth.

John and Irene stared in shock as Sherlock proceeded to put the trash down and avert his gaze from them.

"Sorry.. about that.." He apologized, shame covering his face. John didn't know what to say to make the situation better.

"I-" Irene trailed off. A nurse stepped carefully into the room, the same nurse he sent away crying.

"Sherlock Holmes, there are some flowers here for you." She stated quietly, holding a vase of red roses with a card attached to them. She carried them over to him, placing it gently in his hands and scurried out of the room.

The roses were blood red, with thorns as sharp as knives. Sherlock curiously looked at the card. It read ' **DID YOU MISS ME?** '. His heart dropped as he stared at it in disbelief.

It can't be him. Moriarty is dead. He told himself, feeling his hands begin to shake again. He turned the card over. It read:

 **Hello my favourite toy! Bet you didn't see this coming huh? I already miss seeing your shaking body in my prison. Do you like the colour of flowers I chose? Deep red, just like the colour of your delicious blood that you spilt to save Dr Watson. I bet you're wondering if this is really me. I bet your thinking that it can't be possible, right? Well, I certainly never expected you to shoot me in the head, but that's what I love about you. I can never predict you. My skilled mystery doctor managed to save me. Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily? I eagerly await your return Sherlock.**

 **I'll come to get you soon and return you to your special cell.**

 **Your master,**

 **Jim Moriarty.**

Sherlock felt his body go cold and numb as he finished reading the card.

"Sherlock?" John asked, noticing the terror in his eyes. He walked over to him and took the card from his hands. John read the card, his entire body suddenly freezing.

"No-no that's not possible." John stated in disbelief, reading over the card once more. Sherlock felt himself begin to panic, and retreated to his mind palace for comfort.

That's not possible. He can't be alive, I shot him in the head. Sherlock thought to himself, shaking as he created the scenario once more. Sherlock pulled the trigger, watching carefully as the bullet entered Moriarty's head.

A SIG Sauer P226 fired a single bullet travelling 2000km/h into his head. There's no way anyone can survive that. He assured himself, bringing up an image of the human body and watching as the bullet entered again.

But... Mycroft said slowly, entering his mind and pointing at the bullet.

What kind of bullet is it? Sherlock finished, his eyes flying open once more.

"John, yo-your gun. What kind of bullets are in there?" Sherlock demanded. John hesitated, glancing between him and the card.

"John!" Sherlock insisted impatiently.

".380 ACP. Sherlock what are you tal-" He answered, cut off by Sherlock shushing him. He went to his mind palace once more.

At that angle, the bullet would've entered the frontal lobe. It went all the way through, judged by the pool of blood that formed around recreated the scene, watching carefully as Moriarty fell backwards.

Damage to the frontal lobe is severe, but can be recovered. It would result in spontaneous behaviour, increased irritability, sudden mood changes and an inability to regulate mood. Sherlock made a diagram of the brain, going over his facts once more.

But, it is possible he survived, even likely due to the way he fell back. He concluded, feeling his heart basically stop. It took him a little while to realize that John was shaking him, trying to bring him back into reality.

"Sherlock!" He shouted as Sherlock's eyes opened once more.

"Moriarty survived.. didn't he?" Sherlock stated as the feeling of despise filled him.

"I-I don't know Sherlo-" John started, putting his hand on his shoulder. Sherlock jerked away from him, tightening his body to hide his quivering.

"Look, Sherlock it doesn't matter. He can't get you now, you're safe." John promised, unsure if he was telling the truth to his friend.

"Moriarty will always find a way to get what he wants." Sherlock muttered hatefully, staring blankly at the wall. Blue and red lights illuminated the room brightly.

"Something is wrong.." Irene stated, staring out of the window. Four police cars pulled up to the hospital. John walked up to the window and stared down at the street.

"It's probably Mycroft, I texted him to come here." John assured, hoping that he was right. He watched as Lestrade, Officer Donavon and Anderson waltzed out of their cars and walked into the hospital, along with at least 14 other officers.

"What the hell?" John exclaimed as he lost sight of them.

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked as Irene rushed up to him and placed her soft hands in his.

"Don't worry, it's just your friends." She assured, uncertainty creeping slowly into her voice. Loud footsteps approached closer to his room.

"Irene I know you are lying..." Sherlock smiled sadly at her, feeling her hands tighten around his.

"How?" She asked as they approached quicker. John silently gripped his pistol as to not alarm him.

"Because I don't have that many friends.." He whispered, listening to the amount of footsteps. The small army barged into his room.

"What are you doing here?" John asked, beginning to feel threatened by their numbers. Lestrade walked to the front.

"Im sorry Sherlock, Im so sorry. He has my wife and children.." He apologized, shaking his head in defeat. Sherlock sat up straight, tensing his entire body in fear.

"Who Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"It's him Sherlock. It's Moriarty.." Lestrade answered, feeling guilt wash over him. Donavon stepped up beside her partner, clutching a pair of silver handcuffs.

"Let's go Freak." She ordered as Anderson approached him aswell. John drew his gun, fixing it on them.

"No. You aren't taking him." He demanded, readying his finger on the trigger.

"John, Moriarty has Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson. You have no choice." Lestrade stated grievously, meeting Sherlock's miserable eyes.

"Then we will find another wa-" John began to say.

"No John. He's right, we don't have a choice." Sherlock insisted, cutting him off.

"Sherlock, I can't let him take you again!" John pushed, his fingers turning white by how tight the grip on his pistol was.

"It's not up to you!" Sherlock shouted, startling Irene and John.

"I won't let people lose their lives because of his sick obsession with me. I can't let that happen." He stated grimly, getting up slowly and grabbing his black coat. Officer Donavon roughly forced his hands behind his back and cuffed him tightly. John reluctantly tossed the gun aside and put his hands up, allowing Anderson to cuff him and Irene.

Sherlock felt sick, realizing Moriarty's game was starting over again.


	15. Right Back Where We Started

Sherlock stared at the opening of the pool, watching the reflection of the water dance across the old tiles. He shut his eyes tightly, fully aware of the fact he was about to walk right back into the mouth of hell. Words couldn't describe the terror that rose in his throat fiercely at the thought of standing face to face with Moriarty again. John and Irene remained cuffed and gagged, and constantly struggled against their bonds.

"Sherlock, please.." Lestrade pleaded, gesturing towards the entrance. With a shaky, dread-filled breath, Sherlock slowly walked into the pool, right where this all started.

"There he is, my pet!" A crazed voice exclaimed excitedly as he entered the pool. Sherlock kept his gaze fixed on the wet ground, unsure if he wanted to look up.

This is just another hallucination. Moriarty is dead, he can't be here. This can't be happening.. It didn't matter how many times he repeated it, Sherlock still didn't believe himself.

He looked up to see Jim Moriarty, causing all hope to suddenly vanish from him. Moriarty was grinning insanely at him, and he had a scar on his forehead from the bullet. He was wearing a expensive black suit that was still stained with the detectives blood. Just looking at him made Sherlock freeze, desperate cries for help catching in his throat.

Why? Sherlock asked himself as a new feeling of hopelessness greeted him. He felt red lasers focus on his back and chest.

Why won't you die? Moriarty cocked his head to the side as he watched Sherlock's expression change from shock to a dull anger.

Why couldn't you just die?! Sherlock's mind palace began to crumble as he was forced to remember every session of torture he endured.

" **Why?** " Sherlock mumbled hatefully, feeling a strange rage course through himself. He was so furious that he didn't notice right away that Mycroft and were tied to chairs and had pistols pressed against their heads. Soldiers dressed in black forcefully grabbed John and Irene, tying them into chairs as well. Sherlock nearly lunged for them, but remembered that snipers had their rifles trained on him.

"That's not way to treat an old friend.." Moriarty mocked, leaning against Mycroft, who was red with anger. Mrs Hudson was sobbing quietly as she desperately stared at Sherlock.

" **Why are you still alive?** " Sherlock demanded, his nails digging into his palms painfully and nearly drawing blood. Moriarty approached him, still smiling.

"It's strange. Physically, you are here, but mentally you are far, far gone.." He observed. Blood rushed through Sherlock's ears and for a moment he thought that he might just faint.

"Oh Sherlock, I almost feel pity for you. But this is all your fault, isn't it? I warned you to stop prying, you didn't. Then, you shot me in the head. But, you already knew this was your fault, didn't you? Don't worry, I'll make you pay.." Moriarty stated, looking down at the dried blood on his suit. The hatred for his captor turned into hatred for himself.

"I...I-" Sherlock faltered, feeling the self-hatred turn back into pure terror. He glanced at his friends, who looked just as terrified as him.

"I was so bored without you Sherlock. I missed torturing my favourite toy" Moriarty said, reminiscing the 'fun' they had together.

"Stop calling me that." Sherlock spat, his temper slipping away from him momentarily. A jolt of panic surged through him as the words left his mouth. Moriarty snorted and snapped. The soldiers holding his friends pressed the guns harder against their heads. Sherlock forced his anger down before it would kill the people he cared about.

"That is what you are Sherlock. An object for me to use to entertain myself. I own you." He stated fiercely, pointing to him. Sherlock fought the urge to scream at him.

"So, you better start obeying me and shut your mouth, or else I'll splatter your friends brains on the wall. Understand?" Moriarty asked, gesturing to them. The silence that followed told Moriarty everything he needed to know.

"Good. Now, onto more important business. Come here." He ordered, beckoning him over. Sherlock checked his temper, and quickly scanned over the faces of his friends, trying to prove to himself that it was the only way to save them.

Reluctantly, Sherlock moved forward and stopped a couple meters away from him. Moriarty scoffed, and motioned him to come closer. Sherlock swallowed hard and approached closer until he was a few feet away from him.

"Good. Now, I want you to kneel and beg for me to spare your friends." He instructed, pointing at the ground. Sherlock did as he was told and got onto his knees. He felt his cheeks flush with shame and embarrassment.

"Beg." Moriarty warned, his eyes sparking with anticipation.

"Plea-please spare them Moriar-" He began, looking at the floor.

"No. Look at me and call me by my proper title." Moriarty insisted, grabbing his chin and forcing Sherlock's eyes to his own. He felt the young detective shaking in his grasp.

"Please, please le-let my friends g-go Master." Sherlock pleaded, trying to ignore the feeling of mortification that rolled over himself. Moriarty smirked at his prisoner and began to stroke his hair softly, knowing how uncomfortable it made him.

"Now, was that so hard my obedient little toy?" He mocked, looking down at his play-thing and continuing to caress his black curls. Sherlock was disgusted by how intimate it felt, and heard Irene sobbing silently as she was forced to watch him being humiliated.

"Cuff them all. We are going back to the prison." Moriarty ordered his guards, walking away from Sherlock. A blind, white panic exploded in him, causing flashes of colour to appear in the corners of his vision.

"Wha-what?! You- said that they wouldn't be hurt!" Sherlock shouted as two guards grabbed him, and managed to cuff him even as he struggled. Moriarty turned to him, smiling victoriously.

"Oh, they won't be hurt as long as you behave.." He threatened. Muffled screams erupted from John as they heaved him to his feet. Sherlock thrusted his elbow into one of the guards face and kicked the other as hard as he could in the stomach, desperately trying to save his friends. He ducked as a soldier brought a baton towards his face quickly, and body checked him into a wall.

Moriarty rushed at him and swung a lead pipe into his shin, causing him to crumple to the floor in agony with a shriek. Moriarty then grabbed his wrists and proceeded to pin him against the wall. Sherlock pulled against Moriarty, but even looking at him made the adrenaline and will to fight leave his body.

"I'm going to make you wish that you used that gun to shoot yourself..." Moriarty whispered into his ear, causing a bitter alarm to slither down his spine.

In an instance, Sherlock found himself right back where he started; Pinned against a wall and staring into the entrance of hell.

And the funniest part is that:

He felt afraid,

angry,

and sad to the point where

he felt

 **nothing** at all.


	16. Loss

As Sherlock walked down the twisting halls of Moriarty's prison once more, a dreary feeling settled in his stomach. He had stopped fighting against the soldiers when Moriarty held a pistol to John Watson's head, so now he obediently trudged along while keeping his head down.

The group drew nearer to his old cell, causing Sherlock's heartbeat to quicken. He clamped his jaw shut as the urge to cry out for help grew immensely. They reached the large metal door, and Sherlock's eyes met the carved label. His name was carved out and replaced with;

 **Sherlock Holmes**

 **Moriarty's Favourite Toy**

"Do you like the improvement I made?" Moriarty chimed, coming up behind him and putting his arm around Sherlock. Two soldiers pushed the door open, gesturing to Sherlock to get in. He hesitated, causing Moriarty to roll his eyes.

"Get in, daddy wants to play with his toy again." Moriarty mocked, shoving him forward.

Sherlock fell into his cell, landing on his knees harshly. He stared into the glass pane, wishing that he would vanish before Moriarty could do anything to him. Mycroft was gaping at the table full of torture instruments, utterly horrified at the extent of Moriarty's obsession. Mrs Hudson was crying uncontrollably, muffled snivels escaping through the gag. They were all forced to their knees and shackled to the floor, soldiers training rifles on their heads incase Sherlock tried anything.

Sherlock steadily got to his feet and stood in front of the carbon door, which Moriarty opened eagerly. He paused, his eyes trained on the traces of old blood staining the walls and floor.

"Sherlock.." Moriarty warned, tapping his foot impatiently. Sherlock unwillingly obeyed, stepping into his old prison cautiously. Moriarty slammed the door shut as soon as Sherlock was far enough in.

Sherlock fell to the floor with a quiet cry of anguish as the reality began to sink in. He hated how quickly the tears came, and how quiet the room was so the only thing that could be heard was his sobs. He hated how Moriarty gawked at him, pleasured by his immense suffering. More than anything, he hated how vulnerable he felt and looked. Sherlock's eyes met the stab wound on his left hand that was stitched shut, resulting in a hushed shriek to escape from him as he remembered the blade of the knife slicing through his hand.

Sherlock heard the door opening and turned to see Molly Hooper entering his prison. She was grinning victoriously as she walked towards the carbon door.

"Hello Sherlock..." Molly greeted creepily.

"Round one Sherlock, are you ready?" Moriarty teased, gesturing at Molly, who continued to stare at Sherlock.

"The rules are simple. All you have to do is obey Ms. Hooper's every wish. Every time you resist her, I'll pull one of The Woman's teeth out." He explained, causing a cry to erupt from Irene. Her eyes watered as she gazed at Sherlock desperately. Sherlock looked into her eyes, the look of pure terror in her face making his stomach flip.

"You may begin Molly." Moriarty stated, picking up a pair of pliers from the table threatiningly.

Molly walked into his cell, standing over him dominantly.

"Get up." She ordered. Sherlock passively obeyed, getting to his feet weakly. She smirked at his new submissive behaviour towards her. Without hesitation, Molly pushed Sherlock up against the wall and forced her lips against his, pressing a cold blade to his neck. Sherlock bit down on the instinct to kick her, knowing that Irene would pay for it. She continued to shove her tongue inside his mouth and run her hands down his back, causing his blood to run cold. Molly dropped the knife to the ground, her hands drawing back up his tense body, placing themselves on the back of his neck and drawing him closer until their bodies were touching. He felt her heart hammering against his chest in pleasure. She pulled away from Sherlock, delighted by the taste of him.

"Take your shirt off Sherlock." Molly demanded, practically licking her lips in anticipation. Sherlock hesitated, the thirst in her eyes making him quiver. He began to unbutton his tight black shirt, trying to ignore how Molly watched his every movement. He slid it off his injured body and tossed it to the side, immediately feeling vulnerable as she observed his body.

"Good boy. Now, get on your knees." Molly stated, picking up a whip made of silver chains. Sherlock glanced quickly at his friends, who were all staring at him in horror. He shut his eyes tightly as he got to his knees. He heard Molly pick up a blow torch, and continue to run the flame across the metal chains, causing them to turn red-hot with heat. She walked behind him, gripping the handle of the whip tightly.

"Try not to scream..." She whispered playfully, leaning into his ear.

"We wouldn't want pretty Irene Adler to lose a tooth, now would we?" Molly mocked, kissing his neck as she drew back. Sherlock glanced at Moriarty, who was kneeling beside Irene with the pliers uncomfortably close to her mouth. A large sneer spread across his face insanely, noticing how severely Sherlock was trembling.

Molly whipped the red-hot chains across his back powerfully, causing Sherlock to lurch forward and clamp his hands over his mouth in a desperate attempt to not scream. The chains carved into his skin with ease, leaving a feverish burn searing over his back. His eyes watered as the pain grew unbearable. Before he had a chance to recover from the first impact, she furiously lashed the chains across his back repeatedly until Sherlock fell forward, gripping at the cold floor hysterically as he tried to calm the blazing pain that opened on his back mercilessly.

Sherlock pressed himself against the ground perilously, his hands still covering his mouth as screams tried to force themselves out. He inhaled sharply, the pain growing worse by the second. It took every last bit of energy he had to not scream out in agony.

"Stand up Sherlock." Molly challenged, crossing her arms impatiently.

This isn't fair. Sherlock thought to himself as he attempted to push himself up. The slashes that covered his back began to throb and sting at the movement, causing Sherlock to fall back down onto his chest with a slow, shaky exhale.

"I said.." She began, approaching him.

Stop, please stop this. His mind begged, tears stinging in his eyes.

"GET UP!" Molly screamed, kicking him severely in the side, resulting in him rolling over onto his back. She crawled on top of him, readying the whip once more. It felt as if someone was cutting into his back with blades as he was pressed against the floor.

Without warning or remorse, Molly wrapped the hot chain around his neck and began strangling him. Sherlock clawed at her hands desperately as panic began to flood him once more. The scorching metal blistered into his flesh feverishly, as his hands searched for anything on the ground to save himself. The handle of a knife grazed his fingertips as Molly choked him harder. Sherlock reached for the knife desperately, clutching it in his shaking hands.

STOP! His mind demanded, pleading her.

Sherlock impulsively slashed the blade across Molly's throat. Her eyes widened as she fell over onto her back and began to choke on her own blood. Molly gurgled and coughed, until she stopped moving, her face stuck in a silent plead for her life. Blood dripped out of her mouth slowly as her throat gushed.

Sherlock kicked away from her corpse fearfully, pressing himself against the wall and ignoring the awful pulsing that spread on his body.

Oh no, no what have I done?! His mind began to race as the world around him crumbled. He looked at Moriarty, who was staring wide-eyed at the gory scene.

The room went silent as everyone stared at Molly's corpse in shock.

"Bad, bad boy Sherlock.." Moriarty stated, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"I-I didn't-I didn't mea-mean t-to t-" Sherlock faltered, his voice cracking horribly.

"Oh well, I guess I'll have to trade a life for a life.." Moriarty said, picking up the sharpest knife from the table and scanning each of his friends. Sherlock's heart lurched as he realized what he was going to do.

"N-no! Do-don't hu-hurt them! Plea-please I-Im begg-begging you, don't hurt the-them!" He pleaded, dragging himself to the glass pane and feeling tears well in his eyes. All of his friends stared up at Moriarty in terror.

"Who should I choose..?" He teased, pacing in between them and twirling the knife around in his hands. He glanced back at Sherlock, grinning mischievously.

"Mor-Moriarty, plea-please hurt me-hurt me, don't t-tou-touch them!" Sherlock begged, pressing his hand against the glass. Moriarty laughed as the once- confident detective began to cry.

"I know, your girlfriend! Molly would have definitely wanted Irene Adler dead.." He observed, gently dragging the knife across her flawless face.

Before Irene had time to react, Moriarty stabbed her mercilessly in the stomach.

"NO!" Sherlock screamed as Irene choked in surprise. Her hands covered the wound, and were covered in blood. Her terrified eyes met his as she fell forward.

"N-NO IRENE- NO!" Sherlock pleaded, feeling tears pour down his face. Irene desperately dragged herself to the glass pane, pressing her forehead against it.

"She-Sherlock.." She said quietly, a single tear dripping down her face. He placed his head against the glass, wishing to be near her.

"Y-You're goin-going to be fine-" He promised, sobbing as he watched a sad smile spread across her lips.

"Sherlock, I-I lo-love you.." Irene admitted, opening her eyes and staring into his.

"I love y-you to-too." He confessed, placing a hand on the glass.

"I wan-wanted to grow old wi-with you.." Irene stated with a grief-filled chuckle, pressing her hand against his on the glass.

"We-we will, we will- I promise- you'll be fin-fine." Sherlock assured, doubt creeping into his mind. Her soft hand began to slide down the glass, leaving a trail of glistening blood.

"I-I am afraid.." She sobbed, beginning to close her eyes again as a trickle of blood dripped from her lips.

"No-no please don't lea-leave me, stay-stay awake.." He begged, watching as the fog on her side of the glass stop forming as she stopped breathing.

"Please.." Sherlock whispered as Irene's head dropped and her whole body went limp.

Please

don't

go...


	17. Who's Fault?

"That was sad. I almost feel bad.." Moriarty observed pitifully as Sherlock continued to cry, his eyes still fixed on Irene's corpse. John felt his stomach flip as he looked at how miserable Sherlock was.

"Jesus Sherlock, you're overreacting. Would you stop crying?" Moriarty demanded, approaching the glass. He knelt down, starting to grab Irene's body to drag her away.

Sherlock felt numb, which he decided was better than feeling the oozing fire that laced his body. Moriarty continued to drag her out of the door, and told the guards to dispose of her properly. He walked back in and sighed as John struggled against his chains. Mycroft stared on in defeat as Sherlock curled into a ball, sobbing quietly.

"Maybe you guys can help him stop crying." Moriarty stated, pulling the gags out of their mouths.

"Sherlock.. Sherlock-" John said, all words getting caught in his throat. Mycroft kept his mouth shut, staring at his quivering brother sadly.

"This-this is your fault!" John shouted angrily, turning to Mycroft, who flinched at his words.

"My fault?!" Mycroft seethed.

"You let Moriarty's obsession get this far! You could've saved him, you could've saved Irene!" John yelled, pointing to the sobbing detective.

"Its not my fault that you were stupid enough to waltz in Moriarty's den!" Mycroft hissed, his anger growing by the second as he stared into John's eyes.

"At least I tried!" He replied. Moriarty rolled his eyes and gagged them once more with the damp rags.

"That wasn't very helpful.. now was it?" He mocked, pointing at Sherlock. John felt a familiar guilt fill him. Mrs. Hudson was crying softly, averting her eyes from him.

"God, why do I even have you here? You're completely useless.." Moriarty stated, gesturing to her.

"Sherlock, if you stop whimpering like a wounded dog, I'll let Mrs Hudson go." He stated.

Sherlock tried his best to stop crying, but the sobs just seemed to slip through his clenched teeth.

Stop crying. He urged to himself, holding his breath.

He will kill her, just like he killed Irene. Stop crying! Sherlock felt his body go still as the tears stopped coming. It took every bit of energy he still had to stop himself.

"See? All better.." Moriarty observed, fascinated by Sherlock's struggling. He heaved Mrs Hudson to her feet and passed her to a guard.

"Take her back to 221B. I don't need her anymore." He ordered. Mrs Hudson was still blubbering as she left the room. Sherlock exhaled in relief as the clicking of her high heels echoed away from the room.

"So now that everyone has stopped crying, I think it's time to move on into round two." Moriarty ordered as the door behind him opened. Martinez stomped into the room, grinning madly at Sherlock.

"Every time you resist him, Im going to break one of Dr Watson's fingers." Moriarty threatened, placing a hand on John.

"If it's alright boss, let him fight back. I like to see him struggle.." Martinez asked, picking up a lead pipe from the table. Moriarty snorted in amusement, sitting beside John, who went red with anger.

Martinez walked into his cell, clutching the pipe eagerly. Sherlock stared blankly at him, still sitting on the floor.

"Pathetic.." He hissed to the beaten detective, looming over him. Martinez struck his rib cage with the pipe, causing Sherlock to fall onto his side with a sharp inhale of pain.

"Fight back!" He yelled. Sherlock stayed on the ground, shutting his eyes tightly. Martinez huffed in frustration, observing the young detective to find a pressure point.

"Wait.. where's your pretty little girlfriend Sherlock?" He asked, noticing the pool of blood in front of his cell. Sherlock's breathing quickened as the memories replayed themselves.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Martinez questioned, his stare fixing on him. Anger continued to boil up inside of him.

"That's too bad. I would've loved to see what that looked like in the bedroom." He teased, noticing that he was near his breaking point.

Sherlock's temper snapped, reaching for the knife that had Molly's dried blood coating it. Gripping it tightly, he lunged at Martinez quickly, who smacked his forearm powerfully with the pipe. Sherlock recoiled, dropping the knife and holding his arm, which was pulsing with an empty ache. Martinez used this to his advantage, swinging the pipe hard into Sherlock's side. He fell to the floor with a shriek of pain, feeling tears sting in his eyes. Slowly, he tried to reach for the knife. Martinez stomped on his wrist, shattering many fragile bones. Sherlock screamed in agony, his hand thrumming achingly as he cradled it softly. It was the same hand Moriarty had forced him to stab. Shaking as agony continued to drum in his weak wrist, he held up his other arm as Martinez loomed over him, holding the pipe once more.

Martinez struck him over and over again as the battered detective curled in on himself, covering his head weakly. Every strike resulted in a whimper to escape from him, which made Martinez more excited. He had hit Sherlock's head a couple of times, causing bright flashes of light to burn in his eyes. One last powerful hit to his temple rendered him unconscious.

Martinez waltzed out of the room victoriously, placing the blood-covered pipe on the table. Moriarty was staring at the unconscious detective, pleasure dancing in his eyes. John had shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see his best friend being beaten.

"Good job." Moriarty complemented, turning to Martinez.

"You have indeed earned your freedom.." Moriarty's gaze returned to Sherlock.

"Thanks boss.." Martinez stated, smiling faintly as he realized he had gained his reputation back. He walked out of the cell to go change out of the prison uniform.

"Guards. Take Sherlock to the infirmary." Moriarty ordered as they marched into the room obediently. They picked up Sherlock with ease and carried him out of the room. John watched helplessly as his best friend was taken from him once more.

\- A couple days later -

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, his head drumming uncomfortably. He immediately recognized the smell of rubbing alcohol, and deduced that he was in the infirmary. He was laying flat on his back with IVS in each arm, and an oxygen mask on. He shut his eyes tightly, guessing that he had a minor concussion.

"Good morning Sherlock." Greeted Moriarty, who was sitting next to him closely. He tried to get up, but the pulsing ache that shot through his head kept him down. Moriarty picked up his hand gently, making his broken wrist whimper with discomfort. Sherlock inhaled sharply, shots of agony pounding through his broken bones,

"A musician's hands.." Moriarty stated softly, stroking his injured hand. Sherlock felt a familiar feeling of humiliation wash over him coldly.

"An artist's hands.." He continued, running the tips of his fingers along Sherlock's shaking fingers. He brought Sherlock's hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it delicately. He felt shame and distraught cover his bleeding face.

"A woman's.." Moriarty mocked, dropping his hand back onto the be and causing a quiet whimper to escape from Sherlock's quivering lips.

"I've been very bored while you've been unconscious.." He stated, putting the small clip back on his finger that monitors his pulse. Moriarty got up, and loomed over him, their faces almost touching. Moriarty swept a lock of damp hair that fell over Sherlock's forehead, and then continued to run his fingers through his hair.

"It made me realize how much I need my favourite toy.. You are so valuable..." He stated softly, amused by Sherlock's fearful eyes. Sherlock felt his breath against his skin, making him quiver.

"Wouldn't you agree..?" Moriarty asked, tilting his head tauntingly. Sherlock shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to look into his intense stare any longer.

Sherlock wished to be anywhere but here, having his hair fondled by the one man he hated more than anything else. Moriarty snickered as a lone tear slid down his prisoner's face. Sherlock tried to jerk away as Moriarty's face drew closer to his cheek, but Moriarty's hands kept him still. Moriarty slowly licked the tear from Sherlock's face, the young detective's body going numb with shock and indignity.

"Let's go have some more fun, shall we?" He questioned, whispering threateningly into his ear.

Sherlock clamped his eyes shut once more, trying to forget the feeling of Moriarty's hands on his skin.

When will his game end?


End file.
